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Joan Began Her Ukulele Lessons 


Frontispiece 



JOAN’S 

CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


BY , 

CAROLINE Ef'jACOBS 
•« 

AND 

LUCY M. BLANCHARD 



PHILADELPHIA 
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO. 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright, 1917, by 
George W. Jacobs ^ Company 



NOV -7 1917 

All rights reserved 
Printed in U. S, A, 


©CI.A477446 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Nutting-Party 7 

II The Northern Trip . 23 

III Christmas at Hillview 39 

IV The Letter from California . .i . 67 

V ^‘Pappy’s” Return . . . .... 75 

VI The Trip Across the Continent ... 90 

VII The Knight of the Mines 105 

VIII A Trout Breakfast 120 

IX Pilgrims of Happiness 133 

X El Camino Real .153 

XI The Beaches 163 

XII Ostriches and Alligators 180 

XIII Joan’s New Friend 193 

XIV Hunting a Bungalow 205 

XV “Heart’s Ease” 219 

XVI The Surprise 233 

XVII The Studio Tea 244 

XVm The Wiene Roast 257 

XIX Exciting News 272 

XX Postcards and Souvenirs 289 

XXI Homeward Bound 303 



ILLUSTRATIONS 


Joan began her ukulele lessons 

Frontispiece 

“Jingle bells, Jingle bells, Jingle 
all the way.** 

Facing page 38 

It was such fun to watch them as 
they splashed about 

“ " u 

Tom arranged them carefully on 
the immense back. 

“ “ 190 


190 



JOAN’S CALIFORNIA 
SUMMER 


CHAPTER I 

THE NUTTING-PARTY 

Jack came back from the Golden Age of the 
ancients with a jerk, as one venturesome bandit 
bee buzzed too near his forehead. Joan stood 
over by the woodbine that scrambled up the side 
of the veranda, her eyes thoughtful as she gazed 
out at the distant hills, soft and mellow in the 
haze of autumn. 

October days at Hillview were the most per- 
fect of the year, the twins thought. Out in the 
garden the wealth of mid-summer roses had given 
way to deeper hued asters and chrysanthemums, 
the gypsy flowers of Fall. There was a touch of 
frost in the air, and the maple leaves on the 
splendid old trees at the edge of the lawn were 
beginning to change into deep russets and gold. 
Beyond the road, sloped flelds aglow with golden 
rod. At midday it was still almost summer- 


8 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


like, although the evenings made one appreciate 
the fires of hemlock knots in the old fireplaces. 

Jack looked quizzically at his twin. He was 
a slender, studious boy of sixteen. The crutch 
at his side told better than words could why he 
was usually to be found with a book, while other 
boys of his age went in for outdoor sports. 

“ Tn maiden meditation, fancy free’?” he 
asked, teasingly. 

With a little sigh of content, Joan came back 
to the present. She perched herself on the arm 
of the green willow porch chair at Jack’s side, one 
foot swinging slowly back and forth. 

“No, you dear old twin,” she said, comfort- 
ably, “only thinking. Jack, what a perfectly 
splendiferous time we all have had since we came 
to live here with Cousin John, and he isn’t tired 
of us yet. Isn’t it wonderful to-day? That 
blue haze on the hills makes one think of the 
smoke from Indian fires, doesn’t it?” 

“October’s the most gratifying season of the 
year,” piped up nine-year-old Bob, unexpectedly. 
Under Tony’s direction he had been industri- 
ously covering over the flower beds at the side of 
the porch steps. But as Jack deftly fired a pine 
needle cushion at his head, he shouldered his rake 
and dashed discreetly around the side of the 
house. 


THE NUTTING-PARTY 


9 


Theo sat at the little writing desk just inside 
the long French window of the library, writing 
letters for her mother. At the sound of beating 
hoofs along the drive she glanced up. 

“There’s Helen and Scott, Joan. Just look 
at the glorious leaves they’ve found.” 

Joan hurried down the steps to meet them. 

“Oh, we’ve had a bully canter, way over the 
hills,” Helen exclaimed as she slipped from the 
saddle. “We did wish you were with us. Don’t 
you dare drop those oak leaves, Scott.” 

Scott laughed and twisted a spray of scarlet 
woodbine around Joan’s head as he passed by 
her, his arms laden with great branches of plun- 
der that they had stripped from the forest 
trees. 

“Voila!” he cried. “We crowned the Queen 
of autumn. Say, Jack, the chestnut burrs are 
opening and the ground is j ust thick with hickory 
nuts. How about a nutting party?” 

“Before the weather breaks,” warned Joan, 
“or the squirrels will get them all. How would 
Saturday do?” 

“Now what mischief is afoot?” Theo glanced 
out of the window, with a smile and nod at 
Helen. 

“Nothing more dreadful than a wood picnic be- 
fore the nuts go. We can’t stop because it’s al- 


10 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


most time for dinner. Scott wanted to divide 
the spoils with you. We’ll be over to-morrow 
sure, and settle the plans.” 

Joan watched them as they remounted and 
galloped down the drive. Their companionship 
had been so much to both her and Jack, ever 
since their coming North, and suddenly her twin 
gave a low whistle. 

“Great Jehosaphat! Joan, Saturday’s Bob’s 
birthday. We almost forgot. It’s the twenty- 
ninth.” 

Joan laughed. 

“That must be why he said, it’s the most 
gratifying season of the year. But he’d love the 
nutting party. Jack. You know Margie’s birth- 
day came first, and he always says that we make 
more of a fuss over the girls’ birthdays, than we 
do over the boys’ in the family.” 

Jack nodded. 

“We don’t want to forget the fishing rod. 
It’s been in his dreams for weeks. I’ve got a 
bully magnifying glass for him too, and I think 
Mumsey’s planning on a kodak.” He stopped 
short. 

Around the corner of the house came Bob, one 
arm thrown around Margie’s shoulders in close 
consultation as befitted the arch conspirators 
of the house of Clayton. At Jack’s call he 


THE NUTTING-PARTY 11 

promptly climbed over the veranda rail, and 
perched there like an attentive brownie. 

“WeVe got a surprise for you, young man. 
You too, Margie. Now, go ahead and guess.” 

Bob meditated, cautiously, remembering the 
time when he was sure Jack had a popgun con- 
cealed behind his back, and it had turned out to be 
a first volume in a series on American heroes. 

“Books,” he said, tentatively. 

“Candy,” Margie suggested, hopefully. She 
loved chocolates, and seldom had a chance to in- 
dulge thoroughly therein. 

“Wrong, both of you,” laughed Joan. 
“Nothing to eat and nothing to read, but it’s go- 
ing to happen next Saturday.” 

Bob beamed, expectantly. 

“Has it — has it — er anything to do with my 
birthday?” 

“It just has, old boy; we’ve just been planning 
a wood picnic as a celebration to a pixie. Does 
that please you?” 

Bob’s face became one broad smile. 

“Where are we going?” he asked. 

“Up to the chestnut grove. Helen and Scott 
say the ground is thick with the nuts even now. 
If there’s a good frost to-morrow night, or to- 
night, it will open all the burrs.” 

“We’d better take plenty to eat, though,” 


12 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


warned Bob. “Don’t you say so, Snipwinkle?” 

“Lemon tarts and raisin cookies,” Margie said, 
sagely. 

“And let’s take some apples and potatoes to 
roast. We can build a fire on the rocks and put 
them in the ashes,” suggested J oan. 

“Well, far be it from me to crush any of your 
gypsying habits and customs,” called Theo’s clear 
voice, “but if I were you, I’d put in plenty of 
fried chicken and sandwiches. I can’t bear 
smudgy, smoky half baked potatoes and apples 
on a picnic.” 

“And lots of doughnuts,” added Bob; “the 
kind with holes in them.” 

Joan had been jotting down the different 
items on the margin of J ack’s scratch pad. 

“I reckon Marm Dilsey will have all she can 
do to get up this luncheon, but she won’t mind as 
long as it’s for Bob’s birthday. Hurry up, both 
of you now, and get ready for dinner.” 

Saturday morning. Bob was up at daybreak, 
scanning the horizon for signs of rain. 

“Many happy returns of the day, laddie,” Mrs. 
Clayton said, as he ran into the breakfast room. 
His eyes were shining and his cheeks rosy with 
excitement. He had really taken special pains 
with his hair that morning. 

“Oh, Mumsey,” he cried, “I’m a whole year 


THE NUTTING-PARTY 


13 


older than I was yesterday.” His arms tight- 
ened around her neck in a loving cub bear hug, 
and suddenly his eyes lighted on a slender parcel, 
standing up against his chair. “Jiminy,” he 
cried, “what’s this?” and read aloud from the 
little card tied to the string. “Happy birth- 
day wishes from Jack and Joan.” 

The knots proved obstinate and Bob cut them 
impatiently. Inside there lay a full fishing out- 
fit. 

“Oh,” he exclaimed, “what made you all think 
of such a thing? I just can’t ’magine.” 

• Joan smiled over at Jack, remembering the 
frequent and palpable hints that had been 
dropped by the young man for six weeks previ- 
ous. 

“Oh, we just had a sort of feeling it might 
please you,” she answered. 

Margie was examining the outfit with the 
greatest interest. 

“Don’t forget you promised to take me fish- 
ing.” 

“Well, girls can’t fish, but ’course. I’ll show 
you,” Bob responded, magnanimously. “That 
is, if you’ll promise not to talk and scare away 
the fish.” 

Just then Tony appeared in the doorway, look- 
ing very important and mysterious. 


14 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“Marse Bob, dere’s some one out heah mighty 
anxious to see you. You better come out dis 
minit.” 

“Wants to see me?” repeated Bob. 

“I think we’d all better go,” said Joan, hap- 
pily, as she shpped her arm through Mr. Por- 
ter’s, and the whole family followed Bob as he 
rushed from the room. 

Tied to the hitching post was the most rakish 
and glossiest of black ponies. From the arch of 
its neck to the long sweep of its tail, it was a gift 
that any boy might be proud of. 

“Oh, Cousin John,” exclaimed Bob, scarcely 
believing his eyes. “Is he all mine?” 

He threw his arms around the silky neck, his 
face pressed against the pony’s nose. Margie 
eyed him critically, and held out a lump of 
sugar. 

“He’s most as pretty as Waddy,” she com- 
mented. The pony gave a low whinny of pleas- 
ure and nibbled at the sugar. 

‘^What are you going to call him. Bob?” 

“Why not name him Alcibiades?” suggested 
Jack. “He was a Greek dandy, j’^ou know, and 
Alcy for short wouldn’t be half bad.” 

“I like Rob Roy,” said Joan, stroking the 
w’hite nose, affectionately. 

“No, sir, I’m going to call him Prince,” said 


THE NUTTING-PARTY 


15 


Bob, flatly. ‘T don’t care if it is old fashioned. 
He looks like a prince. Maybe I’ll call him 
Black Prince.” 

As Bob rode his new treasure up and down the 
long bridle path, Jack watched him from the 
veranda, a curious look in his eyes. 

“What is it, lad?” asked Mrs. Clayton in the 
willow chair beside him. 

Jack gave a half sigh, and slipped his arm 
around her shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’ve got one whole boy, Mum- 
sey,” he said, remembering his own lameness. 
“Bob has certainly improved a lot, lately. He 
doesn’t stutter nearly as much and hasn’t tried to 
be pompous and use long words. He hasn’t had 
to learn a verb for ever so long. I’m awfully 
glad he got the pony.” 

Uncle Phil appeared around the side of the 
house laden with parcels and baskets of every 
description. 

“Hyar y’are, hyar’s de luncheon all ready for 
you’uns to take to de picnic.” 

“Yes, and you’d better be getting ready,” 
called Theo. “Scott and Helen are to be here at 
nine.” 

It was a keen disappointment to Bob when his 
mother said she felt the exertion was a little too 
much for her. 


16 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


‘‘But I can help you enjoy the nuts at home 
just the same,” she told him. “You can roast 
some of the chestnuts, Bobbie, by my fire, and 
Theo and Joan can make nut fudge, so I’ll have 
my party to-night.” 

Somehow it always seemed that the Mater 
made things right. 

As Tony drove out with the light spring 
wagon a funny little head appeared around the 
side of the arbor watching them wistfully. It 
was Violet Isabella, brown as a chocolate drop, 
her curly little black horns of hair bound around 
with white strips of cloth, and a wider gidn than 
usual on her eager face. 

“Tony,” called Joan, “there’ll be room for 
Violet with you, and she can help serve lunch.” 

Not waiting for any further invitation, Violet 
Isabella shouted the good news to Marm Dilsey, 
and clambered up beside Tony. As they passed 
Jefferson cottage, Aunt Johnny came out with 
a box of plum cake in her hands of her own spe- 
cial cooking. 

“Have a good time, my dears,” she called, lift- 
ing her smiling, sightless face, as though she 
could see every happy youngster. “Good-by, 
good-by.” 

Up the winding road they went, the fields on 
either hand filled with waiting harvest of golden 


THE NUTTING-PARTY 


17 


pumpkins and big red apples. Even the brook 
that gurgled along rampantly in the summer time 
like a runaway gypsy seemed different now, re- 
flecting the vivid autumn foliage in its tranquil 
depths. 

Joan and Scott rode slowly a little behind 
the rest. Very becoming the brown riding 
habit was and the cantering start had brought a 
flush of color and a sparkle to Joan’s eyes. 

They rode on in silence until, making the last 
turn the picnic ground came in sight. It was a 
group of woods cupped in the rising hills. 

“Just look,” cried Joan, pointing with her 
whip to the crests of the chestnut trees. “They 
are like a golden crown.” 

Bob was already out of the saddle. 

“Look at them,” he shouted. “We’re just in 
time.” Eveiy where were squirrels scampering 
up the tree trunks, bounding from limb to limb, 
scolding and chattering at the intruders on their 
territory. Under the trees, the ground was 
strewn with chestnut burrs. 

“Why, they’re not a bit afraid,” Joan said. 
“Just look at that little rascal sitting on his 
haunches, eating under our very noses.” 

“I presume they are protected by law here, 
just as they are in Richmond. That’s probably 
why they are so tame.” 


18 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Just then the two puppies, Scrub and Grub, 
came hurtling through the dry leaves, half tum- 
bling over each other, and the squirrels dashed 
out of their way. They did not venture down 
again, but scolded incessantly, as if saying, 
‘ Don’t you dare take them all, leave some for 
us.” 

One dropped a nut that hit Margie on her 
forehead, and Bob told her, he was sure it had 
done it on purpose, just like the apes throw co- 
coanuts at their enemies. 

Violet Isabella had never been to a real picnic 
before, and rambled around the woods with ex- 
cited curiosity. She suddenly appeared with the 
information: 

“Dere’s some folkses got lost down der road 
hyar in one of these bubble wagons. Dey’s fear- 
ful flustered.” 

J ack and Joan hurried after her and found just 
around the bend of the road a big red touring 
car. The man was lying on his back tinkering at 
the engine, while his wife and little girl were pick- 
ing wild flowers along the edge of the wood- 
land. J ack offered his services eagerly, and the 
owner of the car sat up with a look of distinct 
relief on his face. They had started out that 
morning for a long pleasure trip, he said, and had 
run out of gasoline. There had been a leak, and 


THE NUTTING-PAETY 19 
they could not go on until -they got a fresh sup- 

piy- 

“We’ll send Tony over with the wagon to get 
some for you,” offered Joan, eagerly. “We’re 
having a picnic in the woods. My uncle is Mr. 
Porter. Perhaps you know him.” 

“We’ve got lots of fried chicken and sand- 
wiches,” urged Jack, boyishly. 

At the mention of fried chicken, little Jean’s 
eyes sparkled, and the twins led their new guests 
back in triumph. 

Scott had helped Tony build a fire of twigs 
and dry leaves. Potatoes and apples were 
roasting in the ashes, and Theo was preparing 
coffee in her own special style while Helen spread 
the cloth. 

“Everything’s ready,” she announced, placing 
a great bunch of golden rod in a glass fruit jar, 
“table decorations, salad a la Waldorf Astoria. 
Doesn’t it look pretty, Theo? Wonder where 
Joan and Jack are? It couldn’t have been a 
real accident or we would have heard screams.” 

“Here they come,” exclaimed Mr. Porter. 
“Why I believe that’s Kent Osgood.” 

“We found some friends of yours a little way 
down the road,” called Joan, merrily. “Tony 
has to go for gasoline, while we have luncheon.” 

Mr. Porter gave them a warm welcome, and 


20 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Theo set three extra places around the spread 
cloth. A picnic lunch is always novel. There 
is the delight of eating out of doors, and the lit- 
tle thrilly feeling as you feel yourself surrounded 
by all the wild things of the forest. In the inter- 
lacing branches overhead, the shafts of sunlight 
steal and dance coquettishly in spots over the 
white linen. There conies the far away call of 
birds, and even the occasional spider or ant trot- 
ting inquisitively around the feast fails to rouse 
you. 

“I’m hungry enough to chew tacks,” Jack ex- 
claimed. “These baked potatoes are splendid, 
Helen.” 

Violet Isabella did a triumphal march bearing 
the birthday cake to the place in front of Bob. 
Marm Dilsey had outshone herself. It was a 
wonderful cake, thick with white frosting, and 
had a garland of tiny pink bowknots, with 
“Robert Clayton” raised in pink frosting on top. 
Bob cut the cake himself, taking care to avoid 
the ten candles. 

“I shall never forget the surprise we had to- 
day,” laughed Mrs. Osgood. “Just think of be- 
ing stranded in the heart of the hills and finding 
fried chicken and birthday cake awaiting you.” 

“We shall all look forward to many happy 
times together,” her husband added, smiling as 


THE NUTTING-PARTY 


21 


Margie slipped a package of cookies into little 
Jean’s hand. “You certainly have ministered to 
the babes in the woods.” 

Bob cleared his throat with dignity. 

“It’s been a ’ccommodation to us, sir. You see 
we don’t often have visitors on a picnic on my 
birthday.” 

Jack cuffed him affectionately. 

“Duffer. You never had a birthday picnic be- 
fore.” 

After their guests had gone, the two boys 
went with Bob to try the new fishing rod, and 
even Mr. Porter slipped away to join them. The 
girls gathered nuts until they tired of it, and 
their baskets were full. The sun was beginning 
to slip down behind the distant pines, and Helen 
set to work gathering things together. When 
the boys came up. Bob looked a little crestfallen. 

“We would have caught fish if there had been 
any, but there wasn’t anything but bullfrogs.” 

As they rode slowly homeward, Scott and 
Helen were plotting together. Every Christ- 
mas their aunt Caroline invited them to spend 
a week with her at a house party in the Catskills. 

“And I’m going to ask her to invite the Clay- 
tons this year. Oh, Scott, wouldn’t J oan’s eyes 
grow big if she could only see our Catskill snow- 
drifts! I’m going to write and ask mother what 


22 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


she thinks. Oh, dear, I wish she wasn’t way off 
there in California.” 

“Home again,” called Joan, as they came to 
the last turn in the road. 

Mrs. Clayton was watching for them at the 
window, and Margie and Bob rushed up to her 
room. 

“It’s been the loveliest birthday, Mumsey,” 
Margie cried. “What do you ’spose; Bob 
caught a whole real live bullfrog with his fishing 
rod.” 

Mrs. Porter laughed happily, her hand rum- 
pling up Bob’s hair. 

“Better a bullfrog than nothing at all, laddie,” 
she said, and that night Bob dreamt that a giant 
bullfrog was standing by his bedside holding out 
a birthday cake, while Joan in the guise of a fairy 
godmother was lighting the candles. 


CHAPTER II 


THE NORTHERN TRIP 

Just as soon as Theo had realized it had set 
in for a rainy Saturday, she called up Helen on 
the ’phone. 

“Do bring your work and come over for the 
day,” she said. “We’re all of us going to make 
Christmas presents.” 

It really was a fascinating occupation. Jean 
was crocheting a soft lavender scarf for her 
mother, Helen embroidered forget-me-nots on a 
linen center piece, while Theo sat knitting silk 
neckties for the masculine members of the fam- 
ily. Marjory sat on a little footstool surrounded 
by pyramids of ribbons and silk pieces. She was 
making up little stout pin balls and violet sachets 
and though the shapes of some were not entirely 
like the patterns still there was love in every 
stitch. 

“Do you think Cousin John would like brown 
and red, if I use a very dark wine tint?” Theo 
held up a half -finished necktie for inspection. 

“It’s dandy,” Helen declared. “Make Scott’s 


24 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 

blue. Oh, it looks so nice and Christmasy here! 
I wish we had a big family.” 

Joan rose and stretched herself, smiling over 
the interesting disarray of the room. 

“We mustn’t forget Lidy and Happy Day. 
Those poor youngsters won’t have a single pres- 
ent except what we give them. Old Pappy’s 
wandered off to Tennessee with never a thought 
of them.” 

“He’s worse than no father at all,” declared 
Theo. “Of course we won’t forget them. I’ll 
bet a cookie they never even saw a Christmas tree 
in all their lives.” 

Margie glanced up pensively. 

“I think I’ll get Happy Day a doll’s buggy, 
like the one Constance Evelyn has, I’ve got 
’bout forty-seven pennies already.” 

Joan was thinking hard. “I don’t suppose she 
ever had anything really pretty of her very own. 
Mother’ll be sure to give them stockings and 
dresses and things like that ; but those don’t seem 
like presents for children. If we could club to- 
gether and buy something dainty. A string of 
coral or a little locket and chain, she’d love that.” 

Bob suddenly burst into the room with a huge 
bowl of freshly popped and buttered corn. 

“I know something that’s lots more fun than 
sewing,” he cried as he hopped around with it 


THE NORTHERN TRIP 25 

just out of reach. “Don’t you wish you had 
some, Snipwinkle?” 

/ They all abandoned their sewing and gathered 
around the wide fireplace where Jack had been 
reading for the last half hour. The early win- 
ter twilight was darkening the room. It was the 
hour they all loved best. Even Scott strolled in 
to join the half circle. 

“It’s all so dreamy and mysterious,” said 
Helen. “I love to plan in front of an open fire. 
I wish I could tell you all what Scott and I — ” 

“You might as well now,” said Scott. “You 
almost let the cat out of the bag already.” 

Margie pricked up her ears. 

“What cat?” 

“ ’Tain’t a real cat,” Bob explained in his supe- 
rior tone. “It’s just a secret that Helen let out 
too soon.” 

Theo went around the room pulling down the 
window shades and snapping on the lights. 

“Tell it, Helen. I’m dying with curiosity.” 

“Well, then,” began Helen. “Aunt Caroline 
has invited Scott and me to spend the week before 
Christmas with her. She lives up the Hudson 
near Kingston, just where the Catskills begin. 
You have no idea the fun it will be. They have 
real winter there, and she wants you all to come 
UP with us.” 


26 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Joan was sitting next to her twin, her chin 
resting on her hand as she leaned forward with 
sparkling eyes. 

“Why, we never even saw snow in Georgia. I 
think that would be perfectly dandy. Do you 
suppose mother would let us go?” 

A mischievous look was on Scott’s face. He 
had been quiet for the past half hour, and none 
of the rest knew that he had already sprung the 
surprise on Mrs. Clayton. 

The door opened softly as she entered, and 
they all tried to tell her at once. 

“Softly, softly,” she pleaded, sinking into the 
easy chair which Theo pushed forward for her. 
“One at a time, please. Scott just told me.” 

“Oh, you mustn’t say no. Please. We’ve 
just set our hearts on having them all see the 
great mountain drifts, and really it is perfectly 
safe.” 

Joan never quite forgot the surprise she had 
when her mother consented. They had never 
been allowed to fly far from the home nest, and 
she well knew that this showed more than any- 
thing else could have done, the affection the Ma- 
ter had for Helen and Scott. 

The sixteenth of December was set as the date 
of departure. Even Margie was allowed to go, 
since Aunt Margaret, for whom she had been 


THE NORTHERN TRIP 


27 


named, was to chaperone them. For days be- 
fore, Margie packed and repacked her cherished 
suitcase which Joan had brought her the year 
before from Richmond. Bob was to remain at 
home. At first, this was a disappointment, but 
when his mother explained in her tender tactful 
way that she couldn’t spare him, he straightened 
his shoulders back in soldier fashion and said, 

“You see, the Mater depends on me, so I have 
to be ’sponsible. She needs somebody to stay 
home and help her get ready for Christmas.” 

It was a wonderful trip. South of the Poto- 
mac the tobacco plantations showed only dry 
stubble now. Once when they shot into a tunnel 
suddenly, Margie clapped her hands over her 
eyes with a little cry of alarm. The train seemed 
to be filled with people who were on their way to 
spend the holidays with relatives and friends in 
the North. The Christmas spirit seemed a real 
bond of comradeship among them all. There 
was one old man in the next seat to Joan who con- 
fided to her wistfully, 

“Jim’s made a raise, and they’ve sent for the 
old man to come and spend Christmas with them. 
He’s my boy, you know. Only one I’ve got left, 
and he’s married a sightly girl, up in Jersey. 
They do say, I shan’t ever go back again and 
mebbe if I see they sure want me. I’ll stay on. 


28 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


The old house ain’t what it was when Marthy 
was living.” 

Margie was delighted with a little traveling 
wicker bag on the seat across the aisle. Inside 
was a tiny French poodle. Its owner, a pretty 
brown eyed girl assured Margie that it knew per- 
fectly well, if it made any disturbance, it would 
be put in the baggage car. Margie trotted over 
several times for a peek through the little win- 
dows, to see his bright eyes peeping out, and hear 
his anxious little whine. 

A party of school girls on their way home for 
the holidays, shared a big box of chocolate walnut 
fudge when Joan passed some magazines to while 
away the time on the journey. 

Once they were in Maryland, the clouds be- 
came lowering and it was evidently growing 
colder. All the children watched eagerly from 
the windows for the first sign of snow; and finally 
towards night, Joan caught sight of the first 
flakes. 

“Oh, IVIargie,” she called, delightedly. “Do 
come and see.” 

Wild with delight, Margie flattened her nose 
against the pane. They were the first snowflakes 
she had ever seen. 

“It’s just like the story in Grimm’s Fairy 
.Tales,” she cried. “Where Mother Hulda shook 


THE NORTHERN TRIP 29 

her feather beds, so it would snow in the upper 
World/’ 

Joan whispered softly, half to herself, 

‘‘Out of the bosom of the air, 

Out of the cloudfolds of her garments shaken. 
Over the woodlands, brown and bare, 

Over the harvest — ” 

“Here’s Joan quoting poetry,” laughed Theo. 
“I do believe I’m almost inspired myself. I 
never saw anything so beautiful.” 

All through the night the storm raged, until, 
as they reached the mountains, there was almost 
a blizzard. After a time, the train began to 
slacken speed. They had had breakfast and the 
two boys had been out on the observation plat- 
form. They came back, just as the girls were 
wondering what could be the matter. 

“Snow may be all right,” exclaimed Scott anx- 
iously. “But one can get too much of a good 
thing. Looks as if we might be snowbound. 
The conductor says it is only seventy-five miles 
before we change cars for the Ulster & Delaware. 
If we can make that we’ll be all right.” 

Just then the train stopped short. And Mar- 
gie began to cry. 

“I don’t want to be under the snow like Es- 
kimo children,” she cried with her head in Joan’s 


80 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


lap. Hillview and mother seemed very far 
away. 

The trouble, however, proved far less serious 
than they had thought. Before noon the snow 
was cleared from the tracks with a big snow plow, 
and the train started again. 

“Change cars for Katoonah,” shouted the train- 
man. 

There was the usual confusion that always oc- 
curs when a train has been delayed. Before they 
knew it they were whisked off the Pullman and 
into the day coach of the mountain train. 

“Are we all here?” asked Scott, as the porter 
hurried them into their seats, piling suitcases 
and handbags around them. Jack laughingly 
counted them off on his fingers. 

“All present, captain,” he replied. 

“Oh, dear,” lamented Margie. “They hurried 
us so, I never said good-by to the little dog.” 

“And I wanted to wish the old man Merry 
Christmas,” Joan said thoughtfully. “I do hope 
he will be happy with his son. He looks as if he 
had had rather a hard life.” 

“Joan, I don’t see what you find to say to these 
forlorn old waifs.” Helen glanced out the win- 
dow a little anxiously. “How fast we’re going, 
Scott.” 

“ J ust making up time. This train had to wait 


THE NORTHERN TRIP 


31 


for ours. If we don’t get blocked again, we’ll 
be there in a couple of hours.” 

‘T wonder,” said Theo, “if those girls finished 
their candy. They must have had at least ten 
pounds between them.” 

They reached Katoonah early in the afternoon, 
and were delighted to find the old stage on run- 
ners waiting at the station. The driver had the 
whimsical, wrinkled face of a middle aged Rip 
Van Winkle, and welcomed them as if he had 
known them all his life. 

“Them new f angled automobiles may be all 
right for fair weather,” he chuckled. “But give 
me Nip and Tuck for a storm like this. Best 
pair o’ colts in the mountains. Been on steady 
service with the stage for the last fifteen years to 
my certain knowledge.” 

Joan got in, and drew the blankets close up 
around her, tucking Margie between Theo and 
herself. 

“I love the stage,” she said. “Seems just as 
if we were in a story, doesn’t it. Jack?” 

“Do you folks come from far?” queried the 
driver. “Guess you ain’t never seen snow like 
this. It’s purty deep even for this part of the 
country. But around Indian Head and Grand- 
view I’ve seen drifts ten feet high and more.” 

Margie eyed him with wondering skepticism 


32 JOAX’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


and decided she would write that one home to 
Bob. 

As they reached the top of the hill, an old stone 
house with many gables came into view. Look- 
ing at it, Joan remembered Irving’s description 
of Wolfert’s Roost. It all seemed like a picture 
from a story. The first spurs of the Catskills 
rose in the distance; below the hill road lay a 
small beautiful lake that sparkled like crystal 
in the brilliant sunlight. Evergreen trees, their 
branches burdened with snow, grew in clumps on 
the wide lawn and bordered the drive. 

Mr. Rogers had built the house years before, 
and so attached had they become to the quaint 
picturesque place, that after his death, his wife 
preferred to live there. Lonely enough it seemed 
to the children when they saw it that first time in 
the grip of winter ; but Helen and Scott had spent 
several vacations there and hailed with joy the 
prospect of outdoor sports. 

“Isn’t it good to be warm?” asked Theo, hold- 
ing her half frozen fingers close to the radiator. 
“I don’t believe I ever want to go out of doors 
again.” 

Once inside the house, Joan’s surprised eyes 
saw no further resemblance to Wolfert’s Roost. 
Polished floors, handsome modern furniture and 
over all that indefinable touch of good taste and 


THE NORTHERN TRIP 


33 


refinement. After luncheon, Scott insisted on 
their exploring the pine grove down by the lake. 
The thermometer was below zero; but it was a 
still windless cold, and the sun shone brightly. 

Jack and Scott started to make a snow man. 
It was a perfect picture to watch Margie’s face 
the first time she tried to shape a snow ball. 

‘T think it would be better for ice cream,” she 
said thoughtfully, her cheeks aglow with color 
from the cold air. 

Theo demanded to be initiated into coasting 
and they helped Scott drag out the big bobsled 
from the shed and run with it over to the big hill 
above the lake. Joan never forgot her first trip 
down. She was on the sled, just behind Scott, 
her chin pressed against his shoulder, with the 
others behind her in toboggan fashion. As the 
sled reached high speed before it swung out across 
the lake, Margie let out a scream, but Helen had 
her arms around her, and they all found them- 
selves at the bottom of the pasture below the 
lake, half rolled over in the snow. 

It did seem that week as though Mrs. Rogers 
herself were a girl with them. She reminded 
Joan a good deal of Scott. They both had keen 
merry brown eyes and deep dimples with a ra- 
diant sense of humor. It seemed as though she 
thought up every possible mode of pleasure for 


34 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


her young guests. There were moonlight sleigh- 
ing parties and a wonderful trip in a big old hay 
wagon set on keen runners with buffalo robes 
covering the hay and heated soap-stones under- 
neath to keep them all warm. 

But Joan’s favorite sport was skating. The 
lake had been cleared of snow and they all had 
skates. While Margie built a whole procession 
of snow men up on the lawn, the twins would slip 
away by themselves. Along the lower border 
of the lake the dark green pines formed a wonder- 
ful background for clumps of white birches. 
While Jack, well wrapped, sat on a fallen log, 
Joan skimmed over the surface of the lake, often 
returning for a little chat. 

“Wouldn’t this be a lovely spot in the summer 
time?” Joan said, one day. “Just thing of a 
camp up there under the pines. Jack ! Can’t you 
imagine yourself on a moonlight night in a birch- 
bark canoe?” 

“Yes, and fishing on an early July morning. 
Wouldn’t Bob love it with his rod? He’d catch 
something better than bullfrogs here.” 

One morning the two boys succeeded in manu- 
facturing a pair of skis. Scott had already used 
them, and declared he could teach all of the others. 
He took J oan under his special attention, guid- 
ing and holding her so she would not fall, but 


THE NORTHERN TRIP 35 

while it was lots of fun, Joan liked the skating 
better. 

‘T do hope wings are not as heavy as skis,” she 
said laughingly, “ ’cause if they are, I know I’d 
flop terribly trying to be an angel.” 

The birds’ Christmas tree was Margie’s idea. 
Her heart had gone out in sympathy from the 
first to the little fellows hunching themselves up 
on the porch railing. So Helen suggested that 
they string suet and shreds of bacon on one of 
the evergreens near the house, and Margie tied 
tiny pieces of crusts and crackers to the twigs. 
When it was all ready, she watched breathlessly 
from the dining room window, but for a long 
while no bird ventured near. 

‘‘Oh, dear,” she said. ‘T wish I could shoo 
them over.” But just then one little lone snow- 
bird lighted curiously on the tree, his head turned 
first on one side and then on the other as he eyed 
the curious fruit it bore. In a few moments a 
blue jay and a red headed woodpecker joined the 
first comer, and after that Margie had her hands 
full with her winter boarders. Every morning 
they quarreled over the choicest bits ; but Margie 
declared she knew they said, “Thank you.” 

The climax of the visit came when Mr. Porter 
arrived unexpectedly. 

“Simply couldn’t stay away,” he explained to 


36 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Aunt Caroline. “I had to come up to New York 
on business, and it didn’t seem fair for those 
youngsters to have all the fun. I never would 
have known them for the pale, tired-looking boys 
and girls who left Hillview a week ago.” 

He had planned to stay at the hotel, but the 
children all joined with Mrs. Rogers in coaxing 
him to spend the night at the Gables, and there 
was a twinkle in Scott’s eyes as he got Jack and 
Joan and Helen to one side, and planned enter- 
tainment for their guest. 

“Perhaps he won’t like that sort of thing,” 
Theo said, when they unfolded their plan, but the 
twins knew better. Scarcely w^as the six o’clock 
dinner over, when the tinkle of sleighbells 
sounded outside, and Scott drew the big sleigh up 
in front of the house with a flourish of the whip 
over the backs of two splendid bays. 

“I haven’t done this since I was a boy,” ex- 
claimed Mr. Porter, heartily, as they dashed off. 
“Scott, you rascal, move over and let me have the 
fun of driving.” 

It was a ride long to be remembered. The 
moon rose from behind the distant Catskills, 
throwing an almost unearthly light over the won- 
derful scenery. It seemed to Joan as though they 
skimmed the edges of great chasms where only 
the tops of the pines showed far below. Once 


THE NORTHERN TRIP 


37 


they swung about a spur of the mountain that 
brought into sight a great vista up the valley. 
Scott pointed out where Indian Head, Grand- 
view and Shamokin lay far off in the heart of 
old Rip Van Winkle’s hills. 

On the way back they sang all the old songs of 
college days. Cousin John leading with his high 
baritone, but the favorite one was, 

“Jingle bells, jingle bells. 

Jingle all the way. 

It’s my delight 
To ride all night. 

In a one horse open sleigh.” 

After more than three hours of sleighing and 
singing, they swung back through the great en- 
trance gates to the Gables, and found the big 
dining room full of a fresh surprise. There was 
an oyster supper waiting and what appetites they 
all had, to do justice to it. While they were all 
telling stories in the big living room before the 
open fire. Jack and Mr. Porter were suddenly 
missed. Aunt Caroline said it was about time 
for little folks to be in bed, but just as she passed 
the window, Margie gave an exclamation. 

“Oh, look at the birds’ Christmas tree. 
They’ve got it all lighted up.” The rest hurried 
out on the porch to look, and it really was a beau- 


38 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


tiful picture. With the other tall evergreens 
standing about like dark sentinels, Margie’s one 
plump little pine showed a blaze of glory. It 
only lasted a few moments for the night wind 
blew the candles right out. 

“Never mind,” said Cousin John. “Next time 
we’ll have little electric globes, but I’m old fash- 
ioned and I didn’t think about the wind.” 

Mrs. Rogers’ arm was around Joan’s slim 
waist. Somehow in this one short week, she had 
grown to know and admire Jack’s twin very 
much. While she lacked Helen’s impulsive vi- 
vacity and Theo’s rather mature steadiness, there 
was a dreamy charm about Joan that endeared 
her to everyone. 

“Have you enjoyed yourself, dear?” she asked. 

“Oh, wonderfully,” Joan answered with a little 
sigh. “I’ll never forget it as long as I live. If 
only Bob and mother could have been here, too, 
it would have been perfect.” 

“But you’ll be home in time to wish her a 
Merry Christmas, and I don’t think that any of 
you can possibly know the comfort I have had 
from her lending me her dear ones.” 


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CHAPTER III 


CHRISTMAS AT HILLVIEW w 

Bob found during the week before Christmas 
that after all there were many compensations 
for having been left behind. As far back as he 
could remember, he had never been allowed to 
help trim the tree, but this year he even helped 
Tony take it in to the library and set it up in the 
alcove. 

Mrs. Clayton brought forth a box of orna- 
ments that had been used over and over again 
since Theo was a baby. Mr. Porter had sent 
down a glittering array of wonderful new things 
from New York, but to Bob’s mind the old treas- 
ures were best. 

He had had the time of his life while the rest 
of the children were away. There was a very 
tender and close bond between the ten year old 
boy and his mother, and he enjoyed the novelty 
of being all alone with her. After Tony had 
set the last touch to the big tree. Bob led her in 
for the last stamp of approval on their work. 


40 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


He drew a long breath of happiness as he looked 
at the tree. 

“We didn’t know which would be better to 
have at the top: the angel that we have always 
had there, or this big new gold bell.” 

“Better put the angel in her old place,” said 
mother. “The children will miss her if she is not 
there to greet them.” 

“I suppose,” Bob replied, thoughtfully, “an- 
gels and stars are sort of religious, and bells are 
just — bells, you know.” 

He patted Chevalier, the handsome Irish set- 
ter, on the head with grave satisfaction. 

“It’s fine, isn’t it, old boy? ’Bout the prettiest 
I ever saw.” 

The Christmas presents were all stored in the 
garret in the httle room that Jack and Joan had 
fitted up long ago as a retreat for study and con- 
sultation. Here in the old “Sanctuary,” were 
dozens of packages on boxes, chairs and tables, all 
wrapped in tissue paper, and sealed with red cross 
stamps. Tony helped Bob bring them down in 
the clothes basket. Bob panting, and repeating 
at every step almost, 

“Guess this is going to be ’bout the biggest 
Christmas of all for we’uns.” 

Mrs. Clayton sat in the big armchair smiling 
at the little chap encouragingly. It was hard 


CHRISTMAS AT HILL VIEW 41 


work that first time hanging all the smaller par- 
cels on the lower branches of the tree and piling 
the largest ones around the base. Also it took 
much self control to keep from even feeling the 
contour of each and trying to guess what was in- 
side. Right in the midst of all the excitement, 
the postman brought two boxes from Mrs. Mon- 
roe, with a note to Mrs. Clayton, wishing them all 
a Merry Christmas, and asking them to ac- 
cept these gifts from Helen and Scott and her- 
self. 

Bob pried off the cover with a screw driver. 
One box was full of carefully wrapped j)ackages 
each marked with the name of the recipient. 
The other box was packed closely with berries 
and leaves of the California pepper tree, inter- 
spersed with mistletoe and holly. The long jour- 
ney had proved too much for the poinsettias, and 
most of the red petals had fallen off. “How the 
girls will love these!” exclaimed Mrs. Clayton as 
she held up a feathery spray with waxy pink 
berries on it. Tony hung it from the chandelier, 
and when the last parcel had been placed at the 
foot of the tree. Bob gave a little sigh of satis- 
faction and settled himself on a footstool beside 
his mother. 

“Dear little man,” she said in a tender tone, 
stroking his hair, gently. “You have surely 


42 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


learned the secret of Christmas happiness, this 
year. Loving service.” 

Bob swallowed hard as he always did at a word 
of praise, and said comfortably, 

“I reckon they’ll like it all right, ’specially 
when they see all those things Scott’s mother 
sent.” 

All the way down on the train, Joan had been 
coaxing Helen and Scott to stay over Cliristmas 
at Hillview, and when they finally arrived Mrs. 
Clayton added her urging, so that the two ac- 
cepted. Under all Helen’s gayety and Scott’s 
boyish nonchalance, they both dreaded the first 
Christmas away from their Mother. While the 
rest were telling of the wonderful time at the Ga- 
bles, Jack put his arm affectionately around 
Bob’s shoulders. 

“We wished you were with us often, old fel- 
low,” and unconsciously Bob’s shoulders straight- 
ened in soldierly style as he answered, 

“Well, you see, I couldn’t exactly make it go 
this time. The mater and I had too much to do. 
There’s lots of surprises. Folks can’t go visitin’ 
and know what’s going on at home.” 

Theo rumpled up his hair lovingly. 

“It’s all too mysterious for me,” she said. “I 
can hardly wait until morning, so I guess we had 
better hang up our stockings and go to bed.” 


CHRISTMAS AT HILLVIEW 43 


It was a most interesting array in front of the 
fireplace that night. Mr. Porter brought out a 
long red stocking that he declared he had kept 
since he was a boy for the baffling of Santa Claus, 
and Margie hung up a tiny blue one for her 
favorite doll. In spite of the long railroad jour- 
ney, she was out of bed before six o’clock the next 
morning, and all the rest followed in “self de- 
fense” as Joan said. Bob danced delightedly as 
Mr. Porter drew out a toy automobile which even 
the big red stocking could not acconunodate. 

“Bless my soul,” he exclaimed, “if that isn’t 
the broadest kind of a hint. I believe nothing 
would suit you all better than to have me buy a 
big touring car. I guess we’ll have to see about 
that, Bob.” 

In the very toe of Joan’s stocking was a small 
white box marked “A Merry Christmas from 
Scott.” On the soft cotton inside lay a green 
enameled four leaf clover with a tiny pearl like 
a dew drop on one of its petals. It was all so 
like Scott that Joan cried happily, 

“Oh, Scott, now I know I’ll have good luck the 
whole year through.” 

Before they were half way through, Tony, 
proud in the possession of a new red necktie, and 
Nanny with her broadest smile and a red ban- 
danna turban on her head brought in the tradi- 


44 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


tional egg nogg. Cousin Porter, lifting his tall 
old fashioned glass proposed the health of every- 
one at Hillview. 

Then Tony bore the punch bowl back to the 
kitchen where Marm Dilsey served each of the 
colored servants in turn, saying with great dig- 
nity, 

‘T wish you-all the very finest kind of health 
until Christmas comes again.” 

The children all crowded the back hallway to 
watch, and Helen declared, 

“I never knew there was so much sentiment in 
the world, till I came South. Wasn’t Marm 
Dilsey gracious?” 

Breakfast was scarcely over when Lidy and 
Happy Day came running up the drive. A very 
strange and wonderful thing had happened in the 
past months. With everything against her, with 
even the verdict of the specialists at Richmond, 
the final blow of complete blindness had not 
fallen on Happy Day. She had returned to the 
loving care of Lidy. Every night the two of 
them knelt beside the little bed up at the moun- 
tain cabin and asked God to please not let all the 
light go out for Happy Day, and it did seem as 
if it were being answered. 

Bob, as master of ceremonies, attended to slid- 
ing back the doors, while Theo sat at the piano 


CHRISTMAS AT HILLVIEW 45 


and played a joyous Christmas carol. After the 
excitement had subsided and Mr. Porter had 
blessed his soul the usual number of times, he 
helped Bob distribute the presents, commencing 
with, 

“Something for the boy who stayed at home.” 

Bob couldn’t speak as he looked down at the 
real watch, lying in his hand. All he could do 
was smile and swallow hard. 

“Oh, look, girls!’' cried Joan, opening her 
package from Mrs. Monroe. “Isn’t this beau- 
tiful?” She held up a dainty, violet kimono em- 
broidered in wistaria. There was a brown one 
for Theo with beautifully shaded golden chrysan- 
themums, and Helen slipped into a pale blue one 
embroidered in pink cherry blossoms. 

Every one at Hillview was remembered in the 
California box, even to Aunt Johnny, the dear 
little blind old maid neighbor, who had made 
Joan’s vacation so happy. Helen had written 
and told her mother of her, and there was a little 
silk bag of dried lavender tied with dainty ribbon 
to tuck away among Aunt Johnny’s precious 
laces. For Jack and Scott and Margie there 
were scarf pins and a little bracelet, all made of 
the pearly abalone shell; a five pound box of can- 
died fruits for Mrs. Clayton, and a carved orange 
wood ash tray for Mr. Porter. 


46 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


In the excitement the children almost forgot 
Lidy and Happy Day. Over by the door they 
stood, close together, bewildered by the confusion, 
scarcely understanding what it was all about. 
Joan saw them and thought of an old picture 
that used to hang in her mother’s room at home, 
called “The Orphans,” two children clinging to 
each other, Henriette and her little blind sister, 
Louise. In spite of her life of hard work and 
care, Lidy looked like some delicate mountain 
flower as she stood there, patting Happy Day’s 
curls gently and reassuringly. Joan took them 
by their hands, one on each side of her, and led 
them up to the tree. Shyly, but yearningly. 
Happy Day stretched out her fingers, those 
little groping fingers, and touched the green 
branches. 

“I can see the lights a little bit, Lidy,” she whis- 
pered. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” 

Lidy’s eyes shone with happiness. She guided 
the childish hands from one ornament to another, 
explaining each one. 

“Don’t you remember. Happy Day,” she said 
eagerly; “don’t you remember how Maw used 
to tell us all about the tree they all had onct down 
at the Mission, and it was trimmed with pop- 
corn and cranberries? They didn’t have pres- 
ents on it, ’cause that cost too much, but there 


CHRISTMAS AT HILL VIEW 47 


was whole piles of popcorn, Maw said, ’nuff for 
everybody.” 

Bob went straight under the tree on all fours. 
He knew exactly where he had piled certain in- 
teresting parcels. 

“Catch, Lidy!” he called, tossing them out. 
“Here’s some more.” 

“Oh, but not for us, be they?” exclaimed Lidy, 
almost in alarm. “These can’t be all for us. 
Maw’d never want us to take them, and Pappy’ll 
be fearful angry.” 

“No, he won’t,” Joan promised, cheerfully. 
“Because we won’t let him. This is what Christ- 
mas is for. It’s different from other days.” She 
clasped a little gold chain around Happy Day’s 
neck, one that had been hers long ago, while 
Helen and Theo were busy tying a pink bow on 
Lidy’s braids, and showing her how to play with 
a little toy bead loom. 

“Here’s corals for you, Lidy,” Bob announced, 
picking off a long double strand from the tree. 
“Those are from Theo.” 

Lidy suddenly ducked her head down on 
Theo’s shoulder as the latter knelt beside her 
sorting out the different colored beads. In all 
her sixteen years nobody had ever given her any- 
thing that was not strictly useful. She didn’t 
know what a real gift looked like even, but now 


48 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


her eyes filled with quick tears, and all she could 
do was say to Happy Day who tugged at her 
wistfully, 

“Let me alone a minute, honey dear, just a 
minute. It’s too much all to onct.” 

Theo coaxed Happy Day to take the coral 
heads in her hands and slip them around Lidy’s 
tliroat herself, until she looked up and laughed 
back at them all, shy eyed and ashamed of break- 
ing down. Then Happy Day took something 
out of her pocket and held it out to Joan. It 
was a little crocheted doily, one she had made all 
herself, and Lidy had her own surprise for each of 
the girls and Mrs. Clayton. She had woven 
sweet grass baskets for them all, and woven them 
as delicately and carefully as though her hands 
were not roughened by hard work. 

“Do you know, Lidy,” Helen declared, as she 
held up hers, “I’m going to peddle sweet grass 
baskets for you? These are just dear, and in the 
city they cost so much. If you can make up 
some, I know Aunt Caroline would help sell 
them,” 

Lidy’s face colored at the warm praise. 
Joan had slipped down on the stool at her 
mother’s feet for just a minute’s rest, and look- 
ing at the mountain girl’s face, she whispered 
softly, 


CHRISTMAS AT HILLVIEW 49 


‘T didn’t know you could make so much happi- 
ness out of little things, Mother dear.” 

After supper they gathered around the piano 
for a long evening of Christmas music. Joan 
and Helen lighted the candles, as Cousin John 
loved to see them, and they all joined in singing 
the dear old familiar carols and hymns. Happy 
Day sang with the rest, and towards the end 
Margie coaxed her to sing all by herself. 

“Sing the one you like best,” she urged, and 
nothing loath. Happy Day, holding fast to 
Lidy’s hand, lifted up her head and sang in her 
clear, childish treble, a little old darky Christmas 
melody, keeping time to it unconsciously with 
her shoulders, 

“Sing high, sing low. 

Sing to and fro. 

Go tell it out with speed. 

Cry out and shout. 

All ’round about. 

The Lord is born indeed.” 

The children broke into prolonged applause 
after it was over, and Mr. Porter who had been 
watching Happy Day keenly, bent over Mrs. 
Clayton’s chair and spoke in an undertone. 

“What an attractive little child she is. Can 
you see the resemblance of the older girl to that 


50 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


old painting? I mean the general’s disinherited 
son? It’s very marked, I think, to-night.” 

Mrs. Clayton nodded her head slowly, mu- 
singly. 

“You know Joan has always insisted she has 
the Clayton eyes. Life is full of coincidences.” 

After the festivities were over, Mr. Porter 
paused before the old portrait of Richard Cla}^- 
ton, on his way upstairs, and held his candle high 
to get a good look at the fine, mobile face. 

“It’s there,” he said to himself. “Certainly 
there is a resemblance around the eyes.” 

Clad in her new kimono Joan slipped into her 
mother’s room for a good-night hug, and last little 
chat. 

“You know. Mother mine,” she said, “I do be- 
lieve that this year is different from all other 
years I’ve known. We’ve had more of the real 
Christmas spirit, I mean in giving. It really is 
more fun giving things than getting them, isn’t 
it?” 

“I think that has been said better,” smiled Mrs. 
Clayton. “ ‘It is more blessed to give than to 
receive.’ ” 

“Yes, I know,” sighed Joan happily, kissing 
her. “And, Mother, do you know I just can’t 
help wishing it was true.” 

“What was true, dear?” 


CHRISTMAS AT HILL VIEW 51 


‘‘That Lidy and Happy Day really and truly 
belonged in our family. They’re so nice, and 
don’t you see how much Lidy looks like the old 
portrait, now?” 

Mrs. Clayton was silent for a moment. It 
was hard to regulate Joan’s fancies, to bring her 
down to facts. Life was usually to Joan, what 
she would like it to be, not what it really was. 

“Well, anyway, just because there is no real 
relationship is no reason why you should not love 
and help them. W e’ll do all that we can to take 
them out of their old life and encourage Pappy 
to look after them better. Anything else?” 

“No, thank you. Mother darling,” Joan gave 
one last hug. “You do understand so, you know, 
you mustn’t mind if we all come to you and lay 
our burdens down.” 

Theo caught the mailman first the following 
morning, and came into the breakfast room hold- 
ing high a cream envelope. 

“The Misses Clayton,” she announced, “and 
there is yours, Helen, and Jack and Scott’s.” 

“Where’s mine?” asked Bob, with dignity. 
“Time I was being invited to functions and 
things, I think.” 

“Just you wait, old boy,” Jack told him, tow- 
sling his hair up in comradely fashion. “What 
is it, Theo? Dance?” 


52 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


‘‘At the Meadowview Club,” Joan cried, taking 
a peak over Theo’s shoulder. “Reception to 
friends of members, four to six. Dancing from 
eight to eleven. That’s something like.” 

“With all the boys and girls home from college, 
besides our own university fellows, eh. Jack?” 
Scott exclaimed. “Jim Blair’s home from Bos- 
ton Tech., and Hunter Harrison from Harvard.” 

“And Drina from Bryn Mawr,” Joan added, 
“and Connie from Dana Hall, and they say Tom 
Barry came all the way from Berkeley for the 
holidays.” 

“Was that all?” inquired Helen, innocently, 
and they all laughed at Joan’s pink cheeks. 
“Oh, Scott, I’m so glad we stayed over.” 

“Yes, and what are you going to wear?” Theo 
put in practically. “You girls leave everything 
until the very last minute, and then expect me to 
turn into a fairy godmother and change you into 
glorious Cinderellas.” 

They had five days before the event, and never 
did time pass so slowly. Mrs. Clayton’s sitting 
room was cluttered from one end to the other 
with gowns and what Margie called “fashing- 
ings.” But the end quite justified all time ex- 
pended, Theo said comfortably, when they finally 
started out New Year’s Eve. 

The club house was a particularly attractive 


CHRISTMAS AT HILLVIEW 53 


little edifice, so all its members thought. It had 
been built on the colonial plan, with white pillars 
in front, a gallery over the wide porch, and a gen- 
eral air of hospitality and spaciousness once you 
were within. In the central hall rose a large fire- 
place where the yule log still burned. On the 
mantel above stood at least a dozen silver cups 
which had been won at tennis by various of the 
members. On the floor lay a large bearskin rug 
and above the mantel hung a boar’s head. 

“Looks just like a razorback hog,” Bob always 
declared, just to get a rise out of Scott and Jack. 

There were college pennants and colors along 
the walls and above the doors and windows. 
Joan thought she never had seen the rooms look 
so attractive. Wreaths and bells hung at the 
windows, and the big chandeliers had been draped 
with long festoons of evergreen and ground pine. 
Here and there little bunches of mistletoe, half 
concealed, caused cries of merriment. 

During the afternoon the rooms were thronged 
with the many friends who came to revive the 
pleasant old custom of New Year calls. Mr. 
Porter was on hand as usual, with a warm word 
of welcome for everybody. 

“I think I belong here as much as any of the 
boys,” he said. “I’m from Harvard, and can 
root for the blues any time.” 


54 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


But it was in the evening that the fun really 
began. Under softly shaded lights the groups 
of girls seemed like beds of flowers. Theo wore 
shell pink crepe de Chine, trimmed with tiny 
pink and blue satin roses, and bore herself with 
that touch of dignity that made her so like her 
mother. Helen was in blue, blue that matched 
her eyes, with a long filmy lace scarf her mother 
had worn when she was a girl. Joan always 
liked white best of all. 

“Maybe it is bridey, but I like it just the same,” 
she had declared, putting some fresh touches to 
her pretty silk voile. “I wish I had jasmine buds 
this minute to tuck in my hair.” 

Jim Blair devoted himself to Theo as usual. 
The girls always teased her about her “attendant 
swain,” as Helen dubbed him, because they al- 
ways corresponded and danced well together. 
Helen had her own special coterie, but Joan was 
the most popular girl in the whole room. She 
had a comradely way that always held the boys 
loyal, a little too loyal, Scott thought, as he 
watched her dance with one after the other. Still 
she wore the little four leaf clover pin, but the 
worst of it was, he saw Tom’s frat. pin fastening 
a rose at her waist too. 

“Girls are queer people, aren’t they?” he said 
to Jack. J ack was right in his element this year. 


CHRISTMAS AT HILL VIEW 55 


He hardly ever used his crutch now. Mr. Por- 
ter had insisted on treatment by specialists all 
during the past year, and now Jack had only a 
slight limp. Regular exercises and determina- 
tion had worked wonders. He felt mighty proud 
of his twin and her social triumphs. Sometimes 
as she went by him in the dance they smiled with 
mutual understanding. He wondered if Joan 
was thinking of the old celebrations at Juniper 
Inn, where like the kiddies in Riley's poem, they 
had “been so happy and so poor.” 

All too soon the hands of the grandfather’s 
clock pointed to eleven. Still they pleaded for 
“just one dance more.” But Mr. Porter an- 
nounced, 

“It won’t do to turn the clock back any more or 
it will be Sunday morning surely.” 

Reluctantly the gay party broke up, and just 
as they were leaving, Joan lingered to help a mo- 
ment, as she was on the committee of decorations. 
Tom and Scott helped too, eagerly keeping near 
her, but she said good-by to Tom at the door. 

“And kept his frat. pin,” Scott told her, as he 
helped her into the waiting carriage. “You can’t 
wear both, can you?” 

But Joan only laughed at him. She had not 
come from a long line of southern belles for 
nothing. 


56 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“I can wear one at a time,” she said. “I 
couldn’t refuse, could I, when he was going way 
back to college, and Tom’s such a dandy chap?” 

“She’s got six frat. pins to my certain knowl- 
edge,” murmured Jack sotto voce. “She’s mak- 
ing a collection, Scott.” 

“Not of four leaf clovers,” Joan smiled back 
over her shoulder, and Scott was satisfied. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE LETTER FROM CALIFORNIA 

It was the middle of January. The ‘‘den 
class,” as Theo called it, had settled down to a 
good winter of hard study, Joan speeding up to 
keep pace with her twin. Jack had always been 
a winner at mathematics, but he came a heavy 
cropper over his English while Joan simply sailed 
with ease over English and the classics, and 
dodged her math. Scott was a good deal of a 
plodder. Some days he would work with a will, 
and then would come a long stretch of slow plod- 
ding. 

“I hate routine stuflP,” he would declare. “I’m 
going to be an explorer.” 

“Yes, and Scott’s idea of being an explorer is 
to wear a stunning suit of khaki, and a Stanley 
helmet, and go gallantly gunning through the 
untracked wilderness after something,” J ack 
laughed. “Why, boy, that’s right where you’d 
need mathematics and science.” 

“No, sir, I wouldn’t. I’d take along an expert 
like you,” retorted Scott. 


58 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


One day, just as they were deep in a problem 
in geometry, Helen burst into the room, waving a 
letter at them all triumphantly. Scott said 
Helen should have been Pandora. She had a 
perfect genius for springing surprises on other 
people out of the box of life’s gifts. 

“Guess,” she cried, happily. “Guess, Scott, 
please. It’s from Mother. I’m simply wild.” 

“Going, going, gone!” teased Scott. “Spring 
it quick, or there’ll be a case of spontaneous com- 
bustion.” 

Helen perched on the edge of the long study 
table, and read aloud, 

''Dear Daughter Girl: 

“Your letter telling all about your visit to 
Aunt Caroline’s, and the happy Christmas at 
Hillview, just received. I presume you and 
Scott are hard at work again, now. Can you 
imagine that while you were snowballing and 
skating, yoim father and myself were picking 
oranges and eating fresh strawberries in this Sun- 
land.” 

“Umm,” groaned Scott, “strawberries in De- 
cember!” 

“That’s only the beginning,” Helen replied, 
and read on eagerly. 

“This is indeed a paradise of bloom at this time 


LETTER FROM CALIFORNIA 59 


of the year. Immense groves of lemon and or- 
ange trees, hedges of geraniums and calla lilies, 
with tropical palms on every side.” 

“That must be great,” Jack exclaimed, drop- 
ping his Euclid, and leaning his chin on his hand. 
“Go on, Helen. You’ve got my mouth watering 
now.” 

“Just you wait till you hear it all,” advised 
Helen as she resumed : 

“I am sure you will be interested to hear about 
the Tournament of Roses in Pasadena. We 
were fortunate enough to be able to secure ex- 
cellent seats, and could see the whole of it. It 
is really a wondrous pageant, Helen. You and 
Scott may like to know the story of how it was 
inaugurated as a yearly custom here. 

“It was established in 1885, as a festival to 
celebrate the ripening of the orange, and sym- 
bolizes the greeting of Flora, goddess of flowers, 
to the fruits over whose harvesting Pomona 
ruled. 

“They celebrate it on January 1st, out here, 
the date nearest to the time when oranges are 
picked. In some ways it reminded us of the 
Carnival at New Orleans and the Battle of the 
Roses at Rome, only that the great profusion 
of flowers makes it so marvelously beautiful. It 
lasted all day, beginning with a parade of horses 


60 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


and flower decorated automobiles followed by 
gorgeous floats fashioned almost entirely of 
flowers of every conceivable hue. 

“Flora, herself, was represented by a girl re- 
clining on a flower decorated couch in a bower of 
roses. After this float came ‘The Pipes of 
Pan,’ Pan sitting at the base of a miniature 
grotto, while all about him danced youths and 
maidens holding garlands of green. Shepherds 
and goatherds, dressed in skins and bearing 
wreaths and long strands of grape leaves and 
oak, attended him. Another car was one mass 
of California poppies, which seem neither orange 
tinted nor yellow, but like pure gold and soft as 
satin.” 

“Oh, I want to go there,” exclaimed Joan rap- 
turously. “Go on, Helen, quick!” 

“One float was designed after the famous 
painting of the Aurora, Apollo, god of day, 
driving the chariot while Aurora, goddess of 
dawn, led the way, scattering roses. Young 
girls followed her, representing the hours, each 
holding a different flower. It was a harmony of 
colors. There were automobiles without number 
along the way, banked with American Beauty 
roses, poppies, geraniums, bougainvillaea — ” 

“What under the canopy is that?” asked Scott 
urgently. 


LETTER FROM CALIFORNIA 61 


‘T know/’ replied Helen. “Aunt Caroline 
told me. She said lots of it grows in Mexico. 
It’s the most peculiar color, neither red nor crim- 
son, but between them both, and it climbs all over 
the verandas and archways in the patios.” 

“Patios,” laughed Scott. “You’re so sweetly 
lucid, sister mine. And it’s neither red nor crim- 
son, but betwixt and between. Jack, I’ll bet a 
cookie it’s old rose scarlet maroon.” 

“Well, it’s gorgeous, just the same,” insisted 
Helen, ignoring his nonsense serenely. Now lis- 
ten to this: 

“The prettiest float of all, I thought, was the 
one called ‘Little Loves.’ It was a car filled with 
twenty-five children dressed as cupids, just a 
solid mass of white roses and the children scatter- 
ing snowy petals everywhere along the way.” 

“That’s mine,” Margie announced happily. 
“I want that one.” 

Helen read on: 

“There were many others equally beautiful. 
Nowhere else could there be such a display as this 
at a time of the year when most of the civilized 
world is buried in the grip of the frost king. 
After the floats came the chariot races, cheered 
as enthusiastically by this twentieth century 
crowd as were the Roman chariots in the days of 
long ago.” 


62 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


‘"Helen,” Jack cried. ‘"Do you honestly think 
it’s fair for you to come in here in study hours 
and read all that to us? How do you expect us 
to settle down and do anything after that?” 

‘"Mmmm,” breathed Helen, mysteriously, ‘"the 
best is yet to come. You’ll never even imagine it.” 

‘"Oh, go on,” begged Scott. ‘"Don’t stop at 
the best part.” 

“It doesn’t seem as if there could be anything 
better,” Joan added, dreamily, looking out of the 
window at the wintry landscape. How many 
months it would be before the flowers came! 

“Just listen.” Helen leaned forward impres- 
sively, and sprang her best news. ‘"Father and 
Mother have decided to stay in California!” 

Scott sprang from his chair, half overturning 
it, his face alight with expectation. 

‘"You don’t mean it, Helen. Does Mother 
say so there?” 

Helen nodded delightedly, holding the letter 
just out of his reach as she got behind Joan. 

‘"Listen to what she says if you don’t believe 
me: ‘Your father is delighted with the climate 
and has made up his mind to remain here. He is 
greatly improved in health and never wants to 
spend another winter in the east, so we have de- 
cided to accept the offer on our eastern property 
and remain here.’ ” 


LETTER FROM CALIFORNIA 63 


‘T always said Dad would buy an orange 
grove,” Scott declared enthusiastically. 

“Do wait till I finish,” begged Helen. “ ‘Of 
course you and Scott must join us as soon as you 
finish school. We have set our hearts on having 
J oan spend the summer with us, so you must try 
and persuade her to do so. I have abeady writ- 
ten to Mrs. Clayton about it.’ There,” Helen 
folded the letter, and breathed a deep sigh as she 
looked at her auditors. “What do you think of 
that?” 

“Oh, if I only could,” Joan exclaimed. “Jack, 
what do you think?” 

“It’s up to the Mater, of course,” said Jack. 
“I only hope you can go.” 

“I haven’t quite finished,” added Helen, sud- 
denly going back to the letter. “Here’s just a 
little more. ‘We are at present in a steam heated 
hotel as the nights and early mornings are rather 
cool. Until we know more definitely about the 
summer plans, we shall stay here. Hoping to 
hear from you, and with love to Scott and your- 
self from Father and your affectionate mother.’ ” 

“Now, my lady Joan,” Scott asked, teasingly, 
“what have you got to say?” 

“I simply can’t imagine anything nicer, and 
it’s dear of her to ask me, but — ” 

“But what? Don’t begin hunting up reasons 


64 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


why you can’t go,” Helen said practically, hunt- 
ing for a calendar on the desk. “I’ll write to 
mother this evening and tell her we’ll start the 
day after school closes. Let’s see, that’s the fifth 
of June, isn’t it?” 

Joan laughed merrily. 

“I was only going to suggest that we consult 
mother first. You know that is rather a long 
trip, way across the whole United States.” 

“Then ask her now, this very minute,” urged 
Helen. “When I came in she was in the library 
with Mr. Porter.” 

As they entered the room where Mrs. Clayton 
sat sewing, Mr. Porter laid aside his evening pa- 
per and smiled at them whimsically. He was ex- 
tremely fond of young people, and Mrs. Clayton 
often said she believed he actually enjoyed being 
persuaded by them into all sorts of “antics.” 

“Bless my soul, look at the procession,” he 
said. “I thought you youngsters were buried in 
your books.” 

“We were,” Joan spoke up for the others, 
“wrestling over geometry when Helen had to 
come in and get us all upset and excited over 
roses and festivals and California poppies, and — 
and — what else was there, Helen?” 

“Oh, it’s perfectly splendid,” Helen broke in 
impulsively; “a long, long letter from mother 


LETTER FROM CALIFORNIA 65 


and father, but you’ll have to hear it to under- 
stand what we’re after.” 

She sat down on a chair by the big open fire- 
place, while Joan slipped down beside her mother, 
and straightened out the little skeins of colored 
embroidery that had fallen from her lap. Dur- 
ing the reading of the letter she watched her 
mother’s face anxiously, and asked as soon as 
Helen had finished, 

“What do you think, mother? Could I go, 
possibly?” 

After a moment of hesitation, Mrs. Clayton 
smiled down at her. 

“Are you sure you want to, Joan? I received 
a letter also from Mrs. Monroe a few days ago, 
and have been considering the matter seriously. 
In fact, only this afternoon your cousin and I 
were discussing it. It’s a long distance from 
home, dear. Think well before you say yes.” 

“Of course it’s hard to think of leaving you 
and Theo and — ” Joan’s voice lowered now, “dear 
old Jack and the little ones, but, oh, mother dear, 
I would love to see California.” 

“I understand perfectly.” Mrs. Clayton’s 
hand smoothed the soft hair tenderly. “It is an 
unusual opportunity, and I should have no anxi- 
ety about you for you would be in good care. 
Besides, we both feel, your cousin and myself. 


66 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


that the summer out there would do you a great 
deal of good.” 

“What was that that Stevenson wrote,” asked 
Scott teasingly, “something about ‘Traveling 
with a Donkey.’ If I’m to escort these two girls, 
what’s to become of me? They’ll boss the life 
out of me before we get there.” 

Helen gave a good hard tug to his hair and a 
sisterly kiss for good measure. 

“So it is decided we go,” said Joan, delightedly. 

“If nothing happens to prevent,” said her 
mother. “It isn’t February yet, remember, and 
this will happen in June.” 

“Oh, you are a darling mother,” Helen ex- 
claimed, “to loan us Joan. It’s too good to be 
true.” She whirled away to tell Theo. Scott 
was quite as pleased and excited too, but he was 
quieter and more deliberate. Before following 
his sister he said at the foot of the stairs to Joan, 

“We’ll do our best to give you a good time, and 
you can’t help but love mother, you may be sure 
of that.” 

Joan’s cup was full to the brim. All her life 
California had been like a dream to her. To 
Helen and Scott it only meant one more delight- 
ful journey. Ever since they were little, travel- 
ing had been an ordinary and frequent recrea- 
tion, but to J oan it was something more. Even 


LETTER FROM CALIFORNIA 67 


the trip up to the Catskills at Christmas had been 
a great event, and this was way across the con- 
tinent. She felt almost subdued as she thought 
of the whole undertaking, and it was not until 
she found herself back over the neglected geom- 
etry with Jack that she realized what it would 
mean to leave him behind. She looked at him 
with such a comical expression of contrition and 
regret that Jack asked, 

“What is it, little twin? You look as sober 
as Bobbie when he’s cogitating over a Latin 
verse.” 

“Oh, Jack,” she exclaimed impulsively. “I 
didn’t think at first. I’m selfish and mean and 
everything else. How can I ever go away from 
you for the whole summer long?” 

Affectionately Jack’s arm slipped about her. 
He was not very demonstrative when any one 
else was around, but alone she was his good old 
pal and twin. 

“Don’t you worry a bit about that,” he said. 
“I’ll write you the best letters I can, and think 
how bully it will be when you come back. How 
much you’ll have to tell me.” 

Helen’s letter to her mother was most char- 
acteristic. She wrote it in time to catch the late 
afternoon post, and would not even let Scott see 
it. 


68 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“Mother dear: — We are all so excited. The 
things you wrote about in your letter were just 
fascinating, and I can hardly wait for June to 
come. Scott says he’s going to crawl in a hole 
some place and hibernate. And, mother, what 
do you suppose, Mrs. Clayton says Joan may 
come with us, that is, if nothing happens to pre- 
vent. I know you and father will love her to 
death. She’s a dear, splendid, you know, and 
steady, not a scatterbrain like I am. And still, 
she’s full of fun and jolly even if she is sensible. 

“Scott says he will write you to-morrow. 
He’s just as much excited as I am, only he’s a 
boy, and don’t dare to show it. 

“I’ve begun to check off the days on the cal- 
endar so soon. Februar}^ ]March, April, May, 
and then — ^June! Good-by. Lots of love to 
father, and a great big kiss to you from, 

“Helen.” 


Once the decision was made, the entire family 
set to work studying the country west of the 
Mississippi. Any one would think, as Theo 
said, that she was setting out for her California 
summer in a prairie schooner, the anxiety and 
consideration that they all gave to it. 

“Where’s Pike’s Peak?” asked Margie one 
day, looking up from her geography. “Will you 


LETTER FROM CALIFORNIA 60 

stand right on it, Joan, right on the tip top of 
it?’’ 

“It’s in Colorado, isn’t it. Cousin John?” Bob 
put in proudly. “ ’Course she won’t stand on it, 
goosie. It’s a big rock up in the clouds.” 

“Right the first time, sonny,” laughed Cousin 
John. “It’s part of the Rocky Mountain 
range.” 

“I wonder what the desert is like?’* asked Joan, 
thoughtfully. 

“No camels or Arabs in ours,” Scott told her. 
“Sand and cactus and hot enough to roast any- 
body.” 

“What’s cactus?” asked Bobbie inquisitively. 
Dearly he loved to discover a brand new word. 

“I know, I know,” Margie fairly danced at 
getting even with him. “Aunt Johnny’s got one 
in a flower pot and it’s all funny and prickly 
with a little pink flower.” 

“You know I’ve been thinking,” said Mr. Por- 
ter suddenly, slipping his arm around the dis- 
comfited Bobbie. “Perhaps Bob and I may de- 
cide to take the trip with you just to see that you 
get there safely. It’s years since I was in Cali- 
fornia, and I’ve been wondering if we couldn’t go 
by way of San Francisco. Bob and I might stay 
a few weeks with you at the beach and then leave 
Joan for the summer.” 


70 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


He was interrupted by cries of approval and 
clapping of hands. Bob was literally beside him- 
self at the proposal and Margie said in her mat- 
ter-of-fact way, that it was perfectly fair he 
should go, after she had had the trip up to the 
mountains. 

After that Bob pored over his geography 
daily, and Jack declared he knew the whole state 
of California from north to south. 

When Mr. Porter brought home a number 
of railroad folders there was an eager rush for 
them. 

“ ‘San Francisco and How to See It,' ” read 
Joan, taking one from the top. “Listen while I 
read it.” 

But Helen and Scott were exclaiming over a 
tour through “Chinatown After Dark.” 

“I want to go there for my share of the fun,” 
Scott cried. “Chinky, winky Chinatown, when 
the lights are low!” 

“What’s this?” asked Margie eagerly, trying 
to spell out a big word. “O-b-s-e-r-” she 
stopped as it proved too much for her. 

Bob came to the rescue. It was always comi- 
cal to watch the rivalry between the two. 

“I s’pose that’s Lowes’s Observatory,” he fin- 
ished. “There’s a telescope there and you can 
see all sorts of funny things in the sky.” 


LETTER FROM CALIFORNIA 71 


“But listen here,” Jack put in, ‘‘this hits me 
right. ‘Trolley Trips through Wonderland.’ 
You must write me all about those.” 

“And here are the big trees, thousands of years 
old,” Helen pored over the booklet eagerly. 
“I’d love to see them. Do you suppose we 
could?” 

“Bless my soul, you’re going to keep me busy, 
I can see that,” Mr. Porter sighed in mock de- 
spair. “Bob, will you promise to nurse me if I 
come down with nervous prostration? I’m 
afraid we can’t go to the Yosemite this trip, but 
perhaps we can run out in an automobile and see 
the trees near San Francisco.” 

“Can we dip in Great Salt Lake?” asked 
Scott, 

“I think so. I have business in Salt Lake 
City for a few days, so we ought to be able to 
manage it, but mind, don’t you dare demand the 
Y ellowstone or Grand Canyon or Cliff Dwellers 
in Utah. Something must be left for another 
time.” 

“Here’s something about a cat,” said Bob re- 
flectively. 

“ ’Tis not,” Margie denied. “It’s C-a-t-a-” 

“Catalina Island,” Helen prompted. “I 
know. It’s the loveliest place. Mother says it 
reminds her of the Island of Capri in the Bay of 


72 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Naples. We’ll just have to go there when we 
get as far as Los Angeles.” 

That night Scott wrote to his father. There 
had been a strong new bond of understanding 
between the two since the passing of the cloud the 
previous year while Scott was at Juniper Inn. 
It seemed as though Scott could never quite make 
up to his father in honor and respect for the way 
he had doubted him. So now he wrote, 

''Dear Dad: 

“I think it is fine of Mother and you to let us 
come on for the summer. Mr. Porter and 
Bobbie are going to make the trip with us, so we 
shall see San Francisco first. Isn’t that great? 
Bob’s a dandy httle chap. They will stay a few 
weeks in Los Angeles and then return east, leav- 
ing Joan with us. She’s the best girl ever was, 
no foolishness, you know, like most girls have. 
I’m glad you and Mother are going to know her 
for I’m sure you’ll be pals. It won’t be long 
now. We’re all going around with railroad 
guides and geographies. 

“By the way, Joan has brown hair and the 
darkest brown eyes I ever saw. Jack, my chum, 
is her twin, so naturally I like her and I want 
her to have a good time, Dad. 

“Good-by, with love. 


“Scott.” 


LETTER FROM CALIFORNIA 78 


Back came the answer in two weeks, Mrs. 
Monroe answering for both herself and husband, 

“We’re delighted that you are coming and that 
Mr, Porter will be able to make the trip with 
you. We are sure to love Joan quite as much as 
you seem to, I know. 

“In all probability we shall take a cottage at 
the beach and have you all come there. They 
are the most delightful bungalows you ever saw, 
and then after you have had your fill of ocean 
bathing, we will begin our search for a permanent 
home near Los Angeles. While there are many 
beautiful large houses, it is the bungalows that 
appeal to us easterners. They are so decidedly 
Californian and so beautiful, smothered in vines 
and flowers.” 

In the midst of the excitement over the read- 
ing of the letter, in came Bobbie, hatless and out 
of breath. As soon as he was within hearing, 
though, he shouted, 

“Pappy’s home!” 

“Oh, Bobbie, are you sure?” asked Mrs. Clay- 
ton. 

And a hush fell on the little group. Pappy 
had stayed away so long this time, they had all 
begun to think he would never come back any 


74 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


more, and the girls had taken Lidy and Happy 
Day under their wings, so to speak, to comfort 
and cheer up. 

“Maybe it isn’t so,” Margie said, hopefully. 
“Did you just guess it, Bobbie?” 

Bobbie pointed out of the window. 

“Lidy told me herself,” he retorted. “There 
she is, and she’s been crying.” 


CHAPTER V 
“pappy’s’’ return 

Yes, there was no doubt about it. Pappy was 
certainly home again. Just a minute or two 
after Bob’s announcement Lidy arrived, breath- 
less and excited. On going to the cabin that 
afternoon in search of early wild flowers, she 
had found a window partly open. 

“I kinder thought he must have come back,” 
she told them, her eyes wide and full of pain. 
“So I unlocked the door and went in; And there 
he was, all just wore out, Ijdng on the bed. I 
called to him, ‘Pappy, Pappy,’ and he moved a 
little bit and opened his eyes, but he didn’t even 
know who I was.” 

Joan put her arm around her waist as the 
tears began to fall fast from Lidy’s eyes. 

“I knelt down beside him and gave him some 
water. And I smoothed his hair that was all 
matted and rough and talked to him but he didn’t 
know a word I said. And after he drank the 
water, I took off his old tom coat and pulled 
him up on the pillow, but he’s gone again.” 


ro JOAN’S CALIFOKNIA SUMMER 


“Walked off?” Bob’s tone was full of awe. 

“No,” said Lidy mournfully. “I mean in his 
head. He lies there just like he was dead for 
sure. Oh, what shall I do, Miss Joan?” 

She dropped her face in her hands, and J oan 
comforted her. At a signal from her mother, 
Theo slipped away to telephone the doctor while 
JSIr. Porter said he would go straight up to the 
cabin with Lidy. Joan promised she would be 
up the first thing in the morning, and offered to 
keep Happy Day, but Lidy could not bear to 
part with her. 

By the time they reached the little mountain 
cabin, the sick man had recovered consciousness, 
and feebly held out his hand to Mr. Porter while 
he patted Lidy’s cheek with the other as she knelt 
beside him. When the doctor arrived he pro- 
nounced it a case of mountain fever. 

“Evidently he has been coming down with it 
for some time, from a general run down condi- 
tion and lack of proper nutrition,” he told Mr. 
Porter outside the door where Lidy could not 
hear. “Rest and good care and food will bring 
him through now.” 

The following morning Joan wakened early 
and pushed back her window curtains. It was 
one of those gray misty days of early spring. 

“Just right for a canter,” she thought, hurry- 


PAPPY’S’" RETURN 


77 


ing with her dressing. She thought she was the 
first one up, but after she had mounted her horse 
>v hich Tony had ready and waiting, Scott came 
towards her down the path leading from the gar- 
den. 

“The first from our garden,” he said, holding 
up a bunch of daffodils to her. “May I join our 
lady fair? Perhaps I can do something for the 
old chap, too.” 

Joan pinned the flowers at her belt, quoting 
laughingly, 

“And now my heart with rapture thrills. 

And dances with the daffodils.” 

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said. “That 
touch of color was just what I wanted, and I am 
happy to have company this morning. Just look 
at this world of gray and green we’re going 
into.” 

Touching their horses with their whips, they 
galloped away at a pace that made Tony scratch 
his head and meditate. All at once the morning 
sunshine burst through the clouds, and all the 
valley and lifting mountain crests were bathed in 
it. 

“That’s what I call glorious,” exclaimed Scott, 
impetuously. “A regular Midas touch, isn’t it? 


78 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


I believe if he wanted to, he could turn everything 
to gold.” 

Up the mountain road they went more slowly, 
pausing now and then to turn back and admire 
the view, but at last they came in sight of the 
little cabin, almost hidden behind some tall pop- 
lars, slim and radiant in their springtime green. 

While Scott hitched the horses, Joan stooped 
to pick violets. The ground in the yard was 
thick with them and the air heavy with their dewy 
fragrance. 

“Lidy has the loveliest violets around here,” 
said Joan; “just smell them, Scott. Aren’t they 
sweet?” 

Lidy saw them from the little side window and 
came running out, eager to welcome them. She 
had been counting the minutes, she said, until 
they came. 

“How’s Pappy this morning?” asked Joan, 
slipping her arm around the girl’s stooping shoul- 
ders. 

“Well, he ain’t so bad as he was,” Lidy replied 
hopefully, “but he ain’t well yet. The doctor 
says he will get along all right, though. It’s 
mountain fever.” 

She pushed open the door. Within the cabin 
was as neat as wax. On the old marble topped 
table near the bed w'as a china bowl filled with 


PAPPY’S” RETURN 


79 


violets. The breeze blew in at the open window, 
fluttering the crisp muslin curtains, and the room 
was filled with the fresh spring sunshine. 

“It’s not as nice as it ought to be,” apologized 
Lidy. “I haven’t had time to do everything 
yet.” 

Then Joan had a surprise. Out in the kitchen 
was Aunt Phrony busily engaged in making 
broth for Pappy. As she brought him in a 
steaming cupful, he tried to rise and Scott 
stepped quickly to the bed, lifting him and sup- 
porting the wasted figure as he took a few mouth- 
fuls. 

Pappy had always liked the two boys, Scott 
and Jack, and before he had gone away to 
Tennessee, had often stopped to talk over with 
them the best places to fish and hunt in. He 
gave Scott a grateful look now, and sank back 
on the pillows with a sigh of relief, looking up at 
Joan’s bright face. 

“You all have been mighty good to me and 
mine,” he said, weakly. “I — I ain’t going to 
keep my girls away from you no more.” 

Lidy patted him tenderly, and as he dozed 
away into sleep, they tiptoed out of the room 
into the sunlight. 

“One thing that Mother told me to tell you, 
Lidy,” said Joan as Scott held her horse for her 


80 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


to mount, *'you must go on with your letters even 
if Pappy is ill, and she will leave Aunt Phrony 
here to take care of him.” Then, as Lidy opened 
her mouth to plead and expostulate, “Not a word. 
You needn’t worry one minute about him. You 
can run over every afternoon and visit with him. 
There are only a few more weeks of school, and 
we have just set our hearts on your being pro- 
moted.” 

Lidy’s face was aglow with happy willingness. 
She had been so ambitious to get on with her 
studies, and now that Pappy was out of dan- 
ger, it would have been a real calamity to have 
stopped at this time. 

Riding homeward, Scott said suddenly, 

“ J oan, I can’t make Pappy out at all. I never 
thought he had it in him to feel real gratitude and 
thank you the way he did in there. I don’t be- 
lieve he’d object at all, to any plans for the chil- 
dren’s good, do you?” 

“I do hope not,” Joan replied, earnestly. 
“Mother wants to educate Lidy, and Cousin 
John has written to some great specialist, and 
made all arrangements for a new examina- 
tion and consultation over Happy Day’s eye- 
sight.” 

“Maybe he’ll consent. He’s fond of them in 
his way, and he always seems to be proud because. 


^TAPPY’S” RETURN 


81 


as he says, their ‘Maw* was ‘eddicated.* Per- 
haps the old chap’ll behave now that he’s been 
marched straight up to death’s door, and made 
to read the sign on it.” When they had reached 
home, he added, “Let’s ride over again soon, and 
see how he’s getting on.” 

J ust as the doctor had predicted, good care and 
nourishing food proved to be the best medicine, 
and before long Pappy was up and out of doors 
again, although it was apparent to all his days of 
wandering were over. 

As the weather grew warm and balmy, it was 
not long before he was out with Happy Day 
most of the time, gentleness itself to both 
her and Lidy. He asked the latter about her 
studies, something he had never referred to be- 
fore, and never seemed weary of hearing the “lit- 
tle *un,” as he called her, tell him how she was 
learning to do such pretty things, and was so 
happy with all the other children and their 
teachers at the blind school in Staunton, 

Gradually he took to wandering in the woods 
near by, and there w^as scarcely a bird that would 
not answer his call. He would sit for hours on 
an old broken down fence, whittling away at a 
piece of willow for a whistle, watching for Lidy 
to come home. Over in the woods was another 
favorite spot, an old clearing where he would 


82 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


build a fire and roast a potato or couple of apples 
for his luncheon, would lie on the ground with 
the roots of a tree for a pillow, idly dreaming 
away half the afternoon. He and Aunt Johnny 
had always been great friends, and Pappy would 
talk to her as to no one else, all about his wander- 
ings, and “Maw” and the children. Once he 
hinted mysteriously to her of some papers he 
had found on his trip to Tennessee, hut when she 
gently questioned him, he lapsed into silence and 
never again alluded to the subject. 

Sometimes he would walk down as far as Hill- 
view, and on these occasions, Mrs. Clayton always 
invited him to have luncheon in the house, but he 
preferred to eat his sandwiches and drink his 
coffee or lemonade out of doors. Once, however, 
Joan saw him standing in the large lower hall, 
gazing up at the portrait of the son who had 
broken his father’s heart. He started guiltily 
when he saw her, and hurried out of doors in 
spite of her greeting. 

Bob and Margie never tired of following him 
around, watching with fascinated interest while 
he made bird houses. Some he fastened in the 
forks of the trees, others swung from branches, 
so the birds could take their choice. And he 
knew just what sort of a house each bird liked 
best, too. Jack said there never were any “To 


TAPPY’S” RETURN 


83 


Let” signs on Pappy’s houses. They were too 
much in demand. 

“And they’ve got real doors and windows and 
little porches, Joan,” Margie told her eagerly, 
“He marked one Robin Villa, and another 
Oriole Inn, and another is Bluebird Manor. 
Isn’t that funny?” 

One day he came down, bringing a canary for 
Margie, a pretty, slim little thing that sang hour 
after hour in its cage on the sunny back porch, 
but one day the door was left ajar, and it flew 
back to woodland. 

“Maybe it’s just as well,” said Margie, with a 
sigh, “because Valentine’s had one eye on it for 
days, and I knew she was just waiting her 
chance to chew it up.” 

Pappy, very characteristically, said nothing 
when he was told of the flyaway, but two weeks 
later he appeared with a pair of birds, and this 
time he fixed the cage himself. Margie was a 
very faithful little mistress to them, never failing 
to see that there was fresh plantain in their cage, 
and fresh spring water in their tubs. It was such 
fun to watch them as they splashed about and 
then stood on the perches, preening their ruffled 
feathers. 

Joan named them Peep and Bo Peep, and 
they were great company for each other. And 


84 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SmiMER 

after awhile Pappy twisted a wire framework 
for a nest and wound cotton about its side, ‘‘just 
to start them right,” he told Margie, who 
watched every movement he made. So Bo Peexj 
became a real motherly little housewife, and was 
busy for days putting the finishing touches to 
her nest. Peep played the part of a devoted 
mate, too, bringing her bits of cotton and straws, 
and helping all he could by singing joyously to 
her as she sat on the nest. And at last one morn- 
ing, Margie nearly went wild with joy, when 
she found three little speckled eggs in the nest. 
Peep was far too interested now to sing. He 
spent his days j)erched right beside the nest, feed- 
ing his mate titbits that Margie provided. 
After three weeks, the birds were hatched, and 
four scrawny naked little things stretched up 
their necks, and oj^ened wide their mouths for 
food. Jack declared that Margie went around 
showing more pride and delight in them than 
even the little motherbird herself. 

As spring advanced, JNIr. Osgood often drove 
over in his car, and took them out on long trips 
through the beautiful mountain roads around 
Hillview. Once he brought little Jean with him 
to spend the week end with Margie. She had 
always made her home in the city, and country 
life was a revelation to her. Joan would take 



It Was Such Fun to Watch Them as They Splashed About 

Page 83 


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‘TAPPY’S" RETURN 


85 


them for long walks down by the brook, hunting 
for spring wild flowers, and explaining each 
kind to Jean, for Margie knew them by heart. 

‘‘Don’t it all smell woodsy and nice,” said 
J ean, sniffing the air with her little tiptilted nose. 
In a moment, though, she dropped down on the 
ground beside Margie with a delighted cry, as 
they found the first bloodroot, and then Joan 
called to them that she had found a patch of 
anemones, delicate and dainty in pale pink and 
lavender. It was like fairyland here in the glen 
where the brook widened. They could just see 
the patches of blue sky overhead through the in- 
terlacing branches. 

Joan pushed aside the dead leaves in search of 
ferns, the small ones that are the charm of Vir- 
ginia woods, and crying out as she uncovered the 
tiny brown curled frond sheaths, 

“Here they are, girlies, see? All curled up 
like little tight fingers, ready to unfold when 
their call comes from Mother Nature. We’ll 
take some of these home and plant them close to 
the house.” 

She was digging at the fern roots with an old 
knife, when suddenly Jean whispered fearfully, 

“Somebody’s knocking somewhere.” 

They listened intently, and sure enough, on a 
tree close by, there came again the sharp little 


86 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“rat-a-tat-tat.” Joan stepped softly around to 
where they could look up. 

“See,” she whispered softly, too, “it’s a wood- 
pecker; Johnny Red Cap, Theo and I used to 
call him down home.” 

“He doesn’t need Pappy’s help to build him- 
self a house,” said Margie, “does he? He’s a 
carpenter himself.” 

Farther down they heard a sweet “twitter, 
twitter,” from a bush where some young birds 
were learning to fly. 

“Oh, dear,” exclaimed Jean, anxiously, “the 
mother just pushed one little fellow right straight 
off the nest. Do you think he can get back by 
himself?” 

The baby thrush spread his brown wings des- 
perately, but only fell back on the ground again 
and again, while his mother scolded him from the 
bush. Finally she got a nice fat worm, and flew 
back and forth with it, holding it just out of 
reach, and the birdling balanced his wings more 
carefully this time, and fluttered awkwardly up 
to the nest. 

“Now, isn’t that a lesson in Try, try again- 
ness,’ ” laughed Joan. 

“It’s lots harder for him to fly than it is for the 
baby canaries,” Margie returned, “ ’cause they 
have perches to help them.” 


“PAPPY’S” RETURN 


87 


They played around until they were tired, and 
then begged for a story, so Joan seated herself 
at the foot of an old oak, and asked what it should 
be. 

“Jack and the Beanstalk, or the Legend of the 
Springtime?” 

“The Springtime,” said both the children at 
once, and Joan began, 

“Once long ago, when the world Avas young, in 
far off Greece there lived a little girl named 
Proserpine. Her mother was Ceres, the god- 
dess of the harvest, and one day when she was 
away, Proserpine was gathering shells along 
the shore, when Pluto, god of the underworld, 
sprang out of the earth in a dark chariot drawn 
by two black horses, seized her, and vanished sud- 
denly as he had come into the ground.” 

“Why didn’t she just scream and scream?” 
asked Jean, interestedly. 

“I tliink she did, but nobody was near to hear 
and save her. And when Ceres returned, she 
searched everywhere distractedly for her precious 
child. Finally a mountain stream told her out 
of pity, for it had listened to her weeping and 
pitiful cries for days. It said it had seen Pros- 
erpine down in the dark regions of Pluto’s king- 
dom, and that he had made her his queen.” 

“Really and truly did he?” demanded Margie 


88 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


eagerly. Being made a queen was compensation 
for almost anything, she thought. “Did her 
mother find her?” 

“Yes, she found her at last,” answered Joan, 
“and she begged so hard that Pluto consented at 
last to let her spend one half of each year with 
her mother and the remaining half with him. So 
she visits her mother in spring and summer, and 
all the world is glad. The flowers bloom and the 
birds sing again — ” 

And here Margie, who had heard the story 
often and loved it dearly, interrupted, 

“And when she goes back to Pluto, winter 
comes again, and all the flowers die.” 

“If we could see her in time, maybe we could 
coax her to stay up in the sunshine all the time,” 
Jean suggested wisely, and Joan laughed at 
both of them. They sat throwing pebbles in the 
brook for a long time, watching the widening cir- 
cles until the lengthening rays of the sun, warned 
them it was time to go home if they were going 
to plant ferns before dinner. 

Hand in hand they strolled, stopping still to 
pick spring beauties, or make chains of the 
daisies that dotted the fields. The words of a 
poem her mother had once taught her came back 
to Joan, and slowly, as if quoting only to her- 
self, she repeated them: 


TAPPY^S’’ RETURN 


89 


“Over the meadows with daisies strewn, 

When the birds are singing their gayest tune, 
Out in the meadows, over the hill, 

The children followed their own sweet will. 

“Picking buttercups, stopping to rest, 

Seeing which one loved butter the best. 
Talking gayly of childish plays, 

Thinking of nothing but sweet spring days.” 

Reaching home, they all went out to Margie’s 
playhouse to plant the ferns imder the old apple 
tree. Jean had dug up some wildflowers, too, 
and Bob helped them put in blood root, anemones 
and adder’s tongue beside the funny Jack in the 
Pulpits and ferns. After the girls had arranged 
a border of round stones, Margie suggested with 
a sigh of relief, 

“Let’s call it our fairyland, and who knows, 
maybe some of the fairies will really find it out.” 

And so the springtime passed, and summer ad- 
vanced. Light showers fell protectingly on the 
little wild garden. The old apple tree held its 
gnarled branches over it protectingly. April 
passed into May, and before they knew it, June 
came and summer was close at hand. 


CHAPTER VI 

THE TRIP ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

It was a triumphal procession that finally ar- 
rived at the little railroad station to see the trav- 
elers off on their journey, one bright morning in 
June. In spite of all Theo and Joan’s careful 
l)lanning, there was a rush and flurry right at the 
last. When Tony came upstairs with the ex- 
pressman to strap up the baggage, Joan missed 
her trunk key, and it was only after a frantic 
search through pockets and bureau drawers that 
it finally was found in the bird-cage. 

“Now how on earth — ” began Joan when she 
caught sight of Margie’s eyes brimming over 
with tears. 

“I — I found it in Mother’s work-basket the 
other day, and put it in there so I’d be sm’e and 
remember it for you, Joan,” she whispered, her 
arms clasped fast around big sister’s neck. 

Then a bottle of red ink was discovered upside 
down on Helen’s table and her fresh linen travel- 
ing blouse seemed hopelessly ruined, when all 


TRIP ACROSS THE CONTINENT 01 


others were packed. She was running around 
crying and wringing her hands over the wreck. 

“Oh, I can’t go. I haven’t another thing to 
wear!” 

But Lidy ran down to Aunt Phrony and be- 
tween them they got the spots out of the waist 
and restored it fresh and clean, 

“You’re a darling, Lidy,” Helen declared, joy- 
fully. “I’m going to send for you one of these 
days, just see if I don’t, and have you come out 
and spend a whole winter with us.” 

As they were fairly started Scott discovered he 
had forgotten his kodak and raced back after it, 
and Joan caught sight of Violet Isabella coming 
on a dead run for the station, just as the train 
came into sight around the curve, waving some- 
thing. 

“Hyar’s your hairbrush, Miss Joan!” she 
called, and Joan thanked her laughingly. 

And just as though this were not enough di- 
version, Bob was suddenly missed. Even ]Mr. 
Porter looked anxious as the trainmen put on 
the baggage, and the engine gave a warning whis- 
tle, but Bob “bobbed up serenely” as Jack 
said, at the very last moment, breathless and ex- 
cited. 

“I only stopped to give Prince a last hug,” 
he said. “It seems most as if I couldn’t bear to 


92 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


leave him. Tony! you will take good care of 
him, won’t you?” 

He hung out of the car window, shouting in- 
junctions, and Tony called back earnestly, 

“ ’Deed an’ I will, Marse Bob. I tink jes’ 
as much of dat pony as you do yo’ sef. He ain’t 
gwine ter suffer. You keep yo’ comfort on dat,” 

“Isn’t that funny?” Helen said. “I hope we’ll 
all ‘keep our comfort’ by the time we land there.” 

J oan and Helen had never looked better, Theo 
told her mother as they stood on the platform, 
looking up at the happy faces. Helen had a new 
travehng suit of black and white check, and 
Joan’s was a dark blue serge with a pretty pon- 
gee tailored waist, dark red silk tie, and dark 
blue hat with an oriole’s wing on one side, just 
showing the flash of red beneath. 

As the very last call sounded, Helen* her arms 
full of roses that Hunter Harrison had sent her 
as a parting gift, solemnly pledged Theo all over 
again to write often, every time anything of in- 
terest happened on the coast, while Jack held his 
twin’s hand at her window, his other arm around 
his mother. 

“Oh, I wish you were going too,” Joan ex- 
claimed, the tears falling fast now. “Jack, take 
care of Mother sure/* 

“Sure,” he promised warmly. “Don’t worry. 


TRIP ACROSS THE CONTINENT 93 


My turn’s coming. Send plenty of postcards. 
You’ll find a letter from me when you get out 
there.” 

“All aboard 1” shouted the colored porter as a 
final warning, and still they all called out farewell 
admonitions. 

“If I decide to go to the University of Cali- 
fornia, Jack,” Scott yelled from the window, 
“you’ve got to come, too. Don’t worry about 
Joan. I’ll look after her.” 

“Good-by, everybody,” Helen said last of all. 
“Oh, dear, I feel as if I had left half of my heart 
behind me.” 

Joan was crying and still she had to laugh at 
the tragic tone. Theo had pressed a bottle of 
smelling salts into her hand at the last minute, 
and she held it under Helen’s nose now. 

“You need it more than I do,” she said. “I 
never faint.” 

“Oh, but Joan, aren’t partings awful?” 

“Dreadful, but just remember for every part- 
ing is a meeting at the other end, and be happy.” 

Margie had given each of them a box of 
chocolates, repeating solenmly the admonition 
she so often received herself, 

“Be careful and don’t eat them all at once, or 
you’ll be sick.” 

After they were settled for the first part of 


94 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


the journey, the precious new hats protected by 
paper bags, Joan opened the little package that 
contained Jack’s parting gift. It was a history 
of the missions in California, with a newspaper 
clipping giving in full the story of Santa Bar- 
bara. 

“Isn’t this just like Jack,” she exclaimed. 
“Cousin John, can we possibly stop off at Santa 
Barbara?” 

“Rather,” he answered. “We couldn’t pass 
that by. Why, you’ll get your first glimpse of 
the old missions there, and by the way, you must 
watch out for the old road made by the padres. 
It runs very close to the Southern Pacific 
tracks.” 

They were to go on to St. Louis, then change 
to the Burlington to Denver, through scenic 
Colorado to Salt Lake City, where they would 
make their first stop over. From there on, the 
tickets read straight to San Francisco by the 
Southern Pacific. A more varied trip could not 
have been planned for, Mr. Porter said. 

After Bob had thoroughly explored the Pull- 
man, boy fashion, and made friends with all the 
passengers, a dear old lady told him her big boy 
Allan, had been just such a little chap as he was 
now. Then there was a baby across the aisle who 
stopped crying as soon as he made some of his 


TRIP ACROSS THE CONTINENT 95 


most fascinating grimaces at her. Bob prided 
himself on being able to look like either Violet 
Isabella’s favorite ghost, or a Chinese war mask. 
But all this palled pretty soon, and he flattened 
his nose against the window pane in his anxiety 
to miss nothing of the passing landscape. 

They left Washington far behind, and Vir- 
ginia, too. Joan loved the scenery through 
West Vii’ginia, and on into Kentucky. The first 
day passed like a dream, but the second one they 
were ready to settle down as old experienced trav- 
elers, cutting through the lower j)art of Ohio, 
Indiana, Illinois, and finally reaching St. Louis. 
It was sunset when they passed over the great 
Eads bridge, and the whole city lay in a violet 
shadow with the orange sky beyond. 

Here the first change of cars came, and they 
took the Burlington road on to Denver. After 
St. Louis was left behind, the long overland 
train wound its way over the great prairies. 
There were fields of corn, wheat, and other gi'ain 
reaching as far as the eye could see. Far to the 
blue rim of the horizon line, it lay like an ocean 
of lifting billows, waving back and forth as the 
breeze swept it. Most of the fields were still 
green, but here and there, they passed reapers 
and harvesters at work where the yellowing grain 
showed it was ready for harvest. 


96 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


The girls and Scott never tired of watching 
the great machines passing to and fro, finally 
dropping the bundles of wheat. They seemed 
almost human in their direction. Only an occa- 
sional house could be seen in the midst of these 
miles of prairie land. 

“Just think of living way out here in the win- 
ter,” Helen said with a shudder. She was as 
bad as a cat, Scott often declared, loving warm 
fires and soft cushions. 

“I believe I’d like it,” Joan replied, cheer- 
fully; “for a while anyway, if I could only have 
Jack with me, and plenty of books to read.” 

“S’posing a tornado was to come along,” asked 
Bob, gravely, “what would you do, then?” 

“Trot right straight down into our cyclone 
cellar and stay till it was all over.” 

“Humph,” grunted Bob. “You wouldn’t do 
much reading down there in the dark. Guess 
you’d wish you were back in Virginia then.” 

Presently Scott called across the aisle, 

“Say, folkses, better keep a lookout for 
prairie dogs. Here’s where they abide, you 
know.” 

Bob’s nose fiattened against the window pane 
immediately, and before long he was rewarded. 

“I see some,” he called out eagerly. “Cousin 
John, I saw some, only they ran into their holes 


TRIP ACROSS THE CONTINENT 97 


when the train went by, so I couldn’t be sure.” 

But soon there were plenty to be seen, stand- 
ing upright on little mounds of earth that indi- 
cated their bimrows. Such bright-eyed, saucy 
little feUows they were, hardly as large as small 
rabbits, and their short sharp barks could be 
heard occasionally above the din of the train. 

The next morning Bob put his head out of his 
berth to ask casually if the train was on time, and 
the porter replied, 

“Yes, suh, jes’ on time, suh. It’s mos’ seven 
o’clock. Anything you feel like wantin’ ?” 

“But my watch says eight o’clock.” Bob sat 
up very suddenly, and shook his cherished watch 
to find out if it had stopped. 

“Oh, dat’s Eastern time, suh. We changed 
now to Western. We’re ’bout an hour behind 
what we was yesterday.” 

Bob was completely mystified, and altogether 
unbelieving. 

“How can time get changed?” he asked Joan, 
who looked out of the curtains in her section 
across the aisle. “Did the conductor do it, Joan? 
It’s a whole hour now till breakfast.” 

Even Joan could not tell him all the whys and 
wherefores about the change, but when Mr. Por- 
ter came through from the observation platform, 
he explained it all, Eastern, Central and Rocky 


98 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Mountain time. Still Bob never got quite used 
to it, and would say ruefully after that, 

“I’ll never know any more when I go to bed 
what may happen to my watch before I wake 
up.” 

Far beyond the wide stretches of prairie they 
could distinguish now the first outlines of moun- 
tain ranges, so far away they seemed like great 
shadowy clouds. Eagerly the travelers watched 
them until gradually the separate peaks assumed 
form and stood out boldly against the clear sky. 

It was Joan who spoke first. 

“Just think,” she cried, “there are actually 
the Rockies! Don’t you remember, Scott, the 
funny little marks in our geographies that we al- 
ways tried to copy on our maps?” 

“Like a six-legged ant’s track in the snow,” 
laughed Scott. “Gee, I wonder if that big fel- 
low’s Pike’s Peak. I’d like to climb that one.” 

“You’d find it a pretty big pull up,” said Mr. 
Porter. “That particular peak is about 14,000 
feet high, and they say that Pike himself was 
afraid to undertake it. There’s a cog road now, 
way to the top and the view is wonderful. As 
you look off one way nothing but the great plains 
over which we have just come, lie in a vast pano- 
rama, and westward are hundreds of mountains 
fairly crowding each other.” 


TRIP ACROSS THE CONTINENT 99 


‘Tt must be glorious,” Joan said, enthusias- 
tically. ‘T’d want to climb every one of them, 
though.” 

“You can, Joan,” Bob assured her sagely. 
“On funny little burros with long ears.” 

It was a great relief when they finally reached 
Denver. Here they had a full hour between 
train connections. They had made but few 
stops on the way West, and as Scott said, his feet 
fairly begged to be trotted up and dowri some- 
thing besides an aisle. The first thing to do was 
mail the postcards and letters they had written 
along the way. 

Helen counted them as Bob dropped them in 
the box. The first ones were all for “Mother.” 

“And a card from Scott to his father. Santa 
Monica? Is that where we’re going? Here we 
are, Helen, way off side of Pike’s Peak, sending 
postcards to Virginia and California, too.” 

“Hurry up,” called Mr. Porter, breaking in 
on Bob’s reflections, “if you all want to take a 
street car ride and see Denver.” 

When their hour was up they boarded the Rio 
Grande train much refreshed and feeling quite 
like old time travelers. The ride up to Salt Lake 
City was doubly enjoyed for the little break in 
the monotony of the journey. Even going 
through the desert thrilled them, with the miles of 


100 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


sand dotted with pink, yellow and white cactus 
flowers. 

“I guess Margie would be interested if she 
could just take a look at all of those flowers. 
Aunt Johnny’s cactus wouldn’t look like much 
out here,” Bob said over and over again. 

When the ti^ain stopped at Palmer Lake, the 
air came in through the windows, deliciously fresh 
and cool. Mr. Porter smiled as he watched 
Joan’s face, when she leaned out, breathing in 
deep whiffs of it at the station. 

“Like it, girlie?” he asked. 

“It’s wonderful. Cousin John,” said Joan, 
with a happy sigh. “The only trouble is, I can’t 
make it seem real yet. We go so fast through 
everything. I wish I could make the trip in a 
gypsy cart.” 

Passing Pueblo, the road began to climb 
higher. As they neared the mountains, the scen- 
ery grew more rugged and varied. Bob re- 
minded the conductor at least a dozen times that 
he wanted to be sure and see the JMount of the 
Holy Cross. So, in due time, they all hurried 
out on the observ^ation platform for the best view 
of its great snow covered arms, and there they 
stayed for the rest of the afternoon, as the engine 
puffed its way up through the most dangerous 
places. 


TRIP ACROSS THE CONTINENT 101 


Joan stood with wide eyes of amazement. 
Never had she ever dreamt of such bewildering 
beauty. Past snow covered peaks, through the 
marvelous canyon of the Arkansas, into the 
Royal Gorge where granite walls seemed to meet 
above their heads in an arcade; on and on, past 
dashing cascades, over rushing rapids, oil trestles 
that made one dizzy even to think of, on and on, 
whirling through the Canyon of the Grand, 
climbing up and up again by sharp curves, around 
precipitous rocks where it seemed as if their train 
must topple over into the chasm. 

In the midst of it all Bob gave a sudden lunge, 
and Mr. Porter caught him by his coat. 

“Now then, young man, do you want to be a 
small grease spot a few thousand feet down 
there?” 

“Oh, Bob,” cried Joan, “I thought surely you 
were going over.” 

“It wasn’t exactly me that was going over,” 
said Bob, seriously. “It was my hat. And it’s 
gone, too, back there.” 

“Well, you’ll never see it again,” Scott de- 
clared. “Some day it will be discovered, and 
they’ll say a very small prospector died of ex- 
posure in that awful gulch. Bob. Now, you’ll 
have to tie one of my handkerchiefs over yoiu: 
head all the rest of the trip.” 


102 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Bob looked a little sheepish as he replied, 
thoughtfully, 

“I s’pose I ought to have held on to it, but how 
can a fellow think of hats when he’s looking at 
the Royal Gorge?” 

“Never mind, little ‘brud,’ ” said Joan, patting 
him lovingly. “We’ll find lots of hats in Salt 
Lake City,” 

“It’s a good thing this scenery can’t go on for- 
ever like the brook,” Helen exclaimed, as she fas- 
tened her hair up for the seventeenth time. 
“I’ve sprinkled the Ro 3 ^al Gorge with hairpins 
in loving remembrance of mj^self, and my head’s 
fairly splitting, I’ve seen so much. I feel as if I 
were turning into one big exclamation point.” 

“Never mind. There isn’t much to see except- 
ing sand after we pass Glenwood,” Mr. Porter as- 
sured her. “I advise you all to tumble into your 
berths early to-night and be ready for a day of 
sight-seeing in Salt Lake City to-morrow.” 

It was a long, hot night over the western por- 
tion of Utah. Joan roused herself to glance out 
from time to time. The Rockies had been left 
behind. It was a dreary waste land in the moon- 
light, with only sage brush and occasional mes- 
quite bushes to break the monotony of the desert. 
Towards daybreak, she saw great glowing fires 
here and there over the vast desert sands, and 


TRIP ACROSS THE CONTINENT 103 


wondered dreamily how sand could be on fire. 
But in the morning Cousin John told her they 
were coke ovens where the coke was made to be 
used in smelting the ores from the mines. 

Next morning it was dry and dusty. Even 
Helen was up early, excited over the prospect of 
reaching Salt Lake City about 10.30. Joan and 
she were sitting together, Helen, deep in a 
pamphlet describing the beauties of the great 
temple, and Joan trying to trace out a guide to 
the city. Across the aisle Scott was telling Bob 
he mustn’t mind their missing seeing a real live 
coyote, because he’d take him for a plunge in 
Great Salt Lake where the water was so buoyant, 
you could float and eat your dinner if you wanted 
to, from a nice, handy, water-proof tray. 

Suddenly Joan exclaimed, 

“Isn’t it the oddest thing,” and then she read 
aloud, “ ‘The topography of Utah is very much 
like that of Palestine, Utah Lake corresponding 
to the Sea of Galilee, while the Jordan River 
connects it with Great Salt Lake which closely 
resembles the Dead Sea of the Holy Land.’ 
Isn’t that strange, though?” 

Just then Mr. Porter leaned over the back of 
the seat and asked, 

“Does any one want to go down in a mine with 
me?” 


104 JOANNS CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


‘'Oh, Cousin John,” cried Joan. “Could we? 
Do stop jumping up and down so. Bob.” 

“I think it could be arranged,” said Mr. Por- 
ter. “We could take a sightseeing car around 
the city this morning, then go through the Tem- 
ple grounds, and after lunch run out to the lake. 
That would leave us free for a trip the next day, 
what do you say? We may have to stay over- 
night, but there are good accommodations to be 
had at the mining camp.” 

“A night in a mining camp,” Scott said. “Gee, 
I wish Jack were here.” 

“Never mind, we’ll write him everything we 
see,” Joan declared, happily. “Think of go- 
ing right down in a mine, Helen.” 

“I’d rather think of coming right up out of it 
into daylight again,” laughed Helen. 

Soon the train brought them into sight of the 
great Wasatch and Oquirrh ranges, their snowy 
peaks towering into the sky. The desert 
had given place now to irrigated lands and broad 
spreading orchards of many varieties of fruits. 
Passing along the Jordan River, tall Lombardy 
poplars in the distance made one think of pic- 
tures of Italy. The spires of the Temple rose 
majestically into view, and in a few moments 
more they were in the City of the Saints. 


CHAPTER VII 

THE KNIGHT OF THE MINES 

Bob had become completely addicted to a 
guide book. He kept one firmly tucked under 
his arm for ready reference all the time, and read 
aloud to the rest of the party at every chance he 
got so as to be sure they didn’t miss anything. 
While they waited in a store for his new straw 
hat to be selected. Bob ran over some of the city’s 
charms to the tourist. 

‘‘Great rock ribbed mountains, purple 
shadowed, snow crested, cool, vast canyons, clear 
water brought by mountain stream, broad, well 
shaded streets, handsome residences, and every- 
where a general air of — of — what’s that, Joan?” 

“Prosperity,” prompted Joan. “Tuck that 
away now. We’re going for a ride round the 
whole place. Cousin John says we can even go 
through the Temple grounds, and listen to an or- 
gan recital at the tabernacle, although I don’t 
see where we’re going to squeeze it in.” 

“I’m going to take bunches of pictures, and 
you girls can fix up ‘Memory Books’ to send back 


106 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


to Virginia,” Scott said. “I want to catch the 
Beehive House, Eagle Gate, and I don’t know 
what all.” 

Mr. Porter telephoned Rodney Stark, a young 
mining engineer, who was to take them on a per- 
sonal tour of the mines, and came back to them 
smiling. 

“It’s all right. Rodney will meet us at the de- 
pot to-morrow morning at eight. You girls 
want to dress well for the trip, but don’t wear 
your hearts on your sleeve, I warn you.” 

“Do Virginia girls usually do that?” asked 
Joan, teasingly, but with a touch of pride under- 
lying her words, as he pinched her cheek amus- 
edly. “Indeed we won’t lose our hearts to any 
knight of the mines. Cousin John.” 

“Wait till you see him,” laughed Mr. Porter. 
“Get ready now for your afternoon at the 
lake.” 

On the way out to Saltair, they saw miles of 
salt beds where the water was pumped and left 
to evaporate for commercial purposes, five bar- 
rels of water making one barrel of salt, as Bob in- 
formed them gravely. 

“If we only had a little more time, we could 
get enough to last Mother forever,” he added, re- 
gretfully. 

Nearer the lake, countless seagulls could be 


THE KNIGHT OF THE MINES 107 


seen, ciicling about in the air, and skimming over 
the surface of the water. 

‘T don’t believe any of you heard the story of 
the birds,” Joan said, eagerly. “While the rest 
of you were talking about the acoustics back there 
in the Temple, and listening to a pin drop, I was 
interested in what a guide was telling somebody 
else about the crickets and the gulls.” 

“Oh, tell it, Joan,” begged Bob, “and I’ll write 
it back to Margie. She loves birds.” 

“Well, then, nowhere in all the world is the 
gull prized so highly as right here in Utah. 
Way back, I think he said 1848, there was a 
plague of crickets and all the crops would have 
been completely destroyed if it hadn’t been for 
the gulls. They flew inland in great flocks and 
devoured the crickets continuously for six days 
and nights so at the end of the time not a single 
one was left.” 

“Glad they didn’t get as far as Virginia,” Bob 
said stoutly. “I like crickets. Bet a cookie 
those gulls had awful ingestigation.” 

“Indigestion, goosie,” corrected Joan. “It is 
true, the guide said, and the people held a great 
thanksgiving service, so from that time the gulls 
were protected by law. They have nests on one 
of the islands over there in the lake, and are just 
as tame as can be.” 


108 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“Well, I don’t blame the people for loving 
them,” Helen declared emphatically. “I think 
they are beautiful, too. I love the sweep of their 
wings.” 

“Look over there,” Scott said suddenly; “this 
lake’s seventy miles long, they say, but once it 
spread out over the whole valley. You can see 
the shore line still along the base of the moun- 
tains. Just wait till we’re floating on it.” 

The boys were in the water first. Joan and 
Helen came down from the pavilion presently in 
their pretty new suits, designed for the beach at 
California, their hair tucked up under silk oil- 
skin caps. 

“Come on,” called Scott. “You just float, 
that’s all. You can’t sink at all.” 

Joan was a little timid at first. It seemed too 
good to be true that you could really float even 
when you didn’t know how to swim at all, but 
Scott helped her, and she found herself buoyed 
up completely by the heavy salt water. 

“Wish I could read a book and float, too,” 
spluttered Bob at her side, peering up with his 
chin in the water to look at a man who w as doing 
that very thing and a friend with him compla- 
cently smoking a cigar. “That must be a — a — 
remarkable experience.” 

After their plunge in the lake, they lingered 


THE KNIGHT OF THE MINES 109 


until the sun was setting, the sky overhead a mass 
of copper colored clouds, the mountain peaks 
standing out like mystical islands in deep red and 
purple tints. 

The floor of the pavilion was crowded with 
dancers, for Saltair is the playground of the peo- 
ple. In the cool twilight, the lake lay very still, 
a strange, silent sheet of water, dead beneath the 
starlit sky. 

They all slept very soundly that night, so 
soundly in fact that Bob utterly refused to re- 
spond until Scott shook him vigorously, calling, 
“You’ve got to hurry now, young man.” 

Bob opened his eyes sleepily, only to close them 
and inquire with dignity, “Is the train on time,- 
Porter?” 

Scott laughed heartily. “The train’s on time 
all right, and if you don’t huny up, you’ll miss 
the trip to the mines.” 

Bob jumped at the magical word “mines,” 
scrambled out of bed, and hurried into his clothes. 

Reaching the station, they found Mr. Stark al- 
ready there. He was a good looking young man 
of about twenty-two or three, nearly six feet tall, 
with dark hair and keen blue eyes. He told 
Scott he had only graduated a year or two before 
from Cornell, and had come to Utah as offering 
the best field for his work in mining engineering. 


110 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Mr. Porter had known his parents well, and was 
watching Rodney’s career with interest. As he 
came towards them with outstretched hand, 
Helen whispered, 

‘'Isn’t he nice looking, Joan?” But Joan, the 
unimpressionable, as Jack called her, answered 
thoughtfully, 

“Stark? Stark? Do you suppose he can be 
descended from Mollie Stark of the Revolution- 
ary Days?” 

Scott and Rodney sat together, facing Mr. 
Porter and Bob, while the girls were across the 
aisle from them. From time to time the young 
engineer called their attention to the abandoned 
claims on the hillsides. Once they caught a fleet- 
ing glimpse of an old prospector. He seemed to 
be getting ready for a trip. Bob said. His burro 
stood near loaded with a double pack, and he him- 
self carried a pick. 

“Wish him luck,” said Joan, happily. Then 
far on, the mines came in view. Rodney pointed 
out the different ones with a word of explanation 
in regard to each. 

“Those are the big hoisting works you see 
above the surface,” he explained. “Just notice 
the names. There’s many a tragedy hidden be- 
hind them.” 

"I’ve heard of 'The Last Chance,’ ” cried Scott, 


THE KNIGHT OF THE MINES 111 


eagerly. “And there it is now, Joan, over there, 
see?” 

“Yes, and we have ‘The Last Show,’ and ‘The 
Last Dollar,’ to say nothing of ‘The Nightmare,’ 
and ‘The Humbug.’ Are you sure. Miss Clay- 
ton, that you and Miss Helen will be able to 
climb that hill?” 

“I’d be ashamed of Virginia endurance if we 
couldn’t,” J oan replied merrily. 

There was one long street that ran up through 
the gulch. A maze of telephone and electric 
power lines crisscrossed between the various 
mines. The two boys went on ahead with Rod- 
ney to see that all arrangements were made for 
the trip underground. It was a long hard pull 
uphill, and even Joan was out of breath when 
they reached the top. Scott awaited them with a 
motley collection of garments hanging over his 
arm. 

“Canvas coats for the girls, and overalls for the 
rest of us,” he explained. “Put these caps on 
too, Helen, you and Joan, and pull them down 
over your ears.” 

“Wouldn’t Hunter Harrison’s roses go 
prettily with this costume,” Helen laughed, as 
she fastened her coat, and pulled her cap down on 
one side boyishly. 

“Just hold that pose, please,” Scott demanded. 


112 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“I expect to make a sensation with my snapshots 
when I get back, and I need that one. We’ll call 
it, ‘Fascination, thy name is Helen.’ ” 

“Ready?” asked Rodney, coming up with a 
supply of queer looking things that looked like 
spikes turned into candlesticks. One end was 
sharp and pointed, but in the handle was a place 
for a candle. “Here are your ‘miner’s candle- 
sticks,’ one for each of you. You may keep them 
if you like, as souvenirs of the trip. We need 
them for light underground.” 

The girls looked a little bit tense and close 
lipped as they held their skirts close about them, 
and crowded into the cage. There were seven in 
all, crowded like sardines, all facing the same 
way, and each holding to the cross bars above 
their heads. Down, down they dropped, at one 
time passing a lighted station, then into darkness 
again. Bob who was too short to reach the bars, 
held fast to Joan, whispering breathlessly, 

“What if we slipped right through to China !” 

At last the cage slowed down, and the guide 
led the way out from the lighted station. In con- 
trast, it seemed as if they were plunging into 
pitch darkness, save for the little flickering light 
from the candlesticks. Joan never forgot the 
weirdness of that journey, twenty-five hundred 
feet beneath the surface of the earth. Now, they 


THE KNIGHT OF THE MINES 113 


passed long, black passages broken only by 
places where a few men were working, preparing 
to blast the rock, or else sampling for ore with 
queer little picks. Then Rodney led them into 
a recess at one side while a patient mule passed, 
drawing cars loaded high with rock. 

As they progressed, they each accumulated 
small specimens, which he explained. Some 
showed flecks of gold and some of silver. A red 
stain, they learned, indicated iron, and bluish 
green the existence of copper. It took experi- 
ence to even guess at these values, he added. One 
of the most frequent and hopeless phases of the 
mining hfe was the number of people who gave 
their lives to a hopeless quest and never struck 
ore. Joan remembered the old prospector they 
had seen when they entered the city, and won- 
dered if he would make a lucky strike some day. 

“I’d like to show you a ‘stope’ or place the ore 
has been taken from if you can climb the ladder,” 
he said, looking doubtfully at the two girls. 

“indeed we will climb it,” Helen answered, 
eagerly. “I don’t want to miss a single thing, 
do you, Joan?” 

After all, it was not nearly so hard as it looked, 
and they even found they could hold their candles 
as they climbd, by sticking them into the side 
of the shaft until they could draw themselves up 


lU JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


higher. And it was well worth the effort, for up 
at the top they found themselves in an immense 
chamber, where any number of miners were at 
work, some knocking down ore, some with their 
hand picks, and others using light power drills. 

Here was their first resting place, and Rod- 
ney produced a bag of gingersnaps and a miner’s 
water bottle, which looked like a canvas bag, but 
was made after the same principle as a thermos 
bottle. And hungry as wolves they all were. 

“I never thought gingersnaps could taste so 
good,” said Joan fervently. 

“I’d eat fried doormat down here and think it 
was great,” sighed Bob, as he put away his tenth 
“snap.” Rodney smiled as he looked at his 
watch. 

“It doesn’t seem so, I know, but we’ve been 
down about two hours now, and there’s lots more 
I want you to see before you go. Can you stand 
it?” 

“Not much longer,” warned Mr. Porter. “I 
think for the first trip, they’ve been down about 
long enough.” 

So climbing back into the cage by the flicker- 
ing candle light, they went to the top with a whizz 
and a whirr that made Bob’s eyes bulge, and were 
soon up in the open air again. It was several 
minutes before they could accustom their eyes to 


THE KNIGHT OF THE MINES 115 

the brilliant daylight. J oan looked up at the sky, 
and rubbed her eyes, exclaiming, 

“What’s that castle over there?’’ 

“Castle? Castle?” repeated Scott, turning 
around and around. “Our lady fair hath lost her 
mind.” 

“You’re dreaming, Joan. Wake up,” Helen 
teased, but Mr. Porter shaded his eyes and stared 
up at the clouds, too. 

“Bless my soul,” he said, “it’s a mirage. I saw 
one once before on a trip west, years ago. What 
you see, Joan, are really reflections on the clouds 
of great castellated rocks many miles from here.” 

“If this isn’t the funniest trip,” Bob remarked 
seriously. “First we’re way under ground see- 
ing things out of sight, and when we come up we 
see things in the sky that aren’t here at all. It’s 
a topsyturvy place out here, I think.” 

When they had rested a little Rodney took 
them through one of the big mills and showed 
them how the rock was crushed and the precious 
metals extracted. They watched it as it came 
pulverized through the screens, the gold being 
caught on copper plates. The next stopping 
place was the assay oflSce where the value of the 
ore was determined by the most delicate scales, 
after passing through the fire in the furnace and 
muffle. 


116 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 

Finally, it was over, the long day of wonders 
and surprises. As they parted at the hotel en- 
trance Mr. Parker shook hands with Rodney 
heartily and thanked him. 

“We all owe you a vote of appreciation. I’ve 
had as much fun out of it all as Bob.” 

“It’s been an immense pleasure to me, sir,” 
Rodney responded. “I look forward to show- 
ing you the smelters at Salt Lake to-morrow.” 

The day had been so full of events that it w^as 
not until they were alone in their room that night 
that Helen said, 

“How spooky it was dowm there in the dark, 
and wasn’t he splendid the way he helped us and 
led the way!” 

“Who?” asked Joan, absent mindedly, as she 
sat curled up on the foot of the bed in her kimono, 
mending a glove. 

“You know perfectly well, Joan Clayton, who 
I mean. If it hadn’t been for him I should have 
died of fright down in that black hole.” 

“Let’s call him,” Joan exclaimed with sudden 
inspiration, “Our Knight of the Mines. He cer- 
tainly led us through mighty perilous adventures.” 

Later, as they were dropping off to sleep, 
Helen said dreamily, 

“I wonder if the smelter will be as interesting 
as the mines?” 


THE KNIGHT OF THE MINES 117 


“Go to sleej), goose/’ Joan responded, briskly. 
“You know you’d think anything was interesting 
if you had your knight there to guide you.” 

But the following morning, just as they were 
hurrying to catch the train back to the city, Helen 
wrenched her ankle as she stepped from the side- 
walk. 

“It isn’t anything at all,” she cried, but her 
face was pale from the sharp twinges of pain. 
Scott picked her up bodily and carried her to the 
train, and while it turned out to be just a severe 
sprain, still it laid her up at the hotel while the 
others went to the smelter. 

“Isn’t that just my luck?” she moaned. “To 
think of climbing all through that mine and then 
to fall over a splinter in a sidewalk. Don’t mind 
me one bit. It was all my own fault not looking 
w^here I was going.” 

“Better let me stay here with you,” Joan 
begged. “I’m tired anyway, Helen, and I’d just 
as soon as not. I’ll only worry about you if I 
go.” 

“No,” Helen replied fii'mly. “It’s good for 
me. I need discipline, goodness knows. If I’m 
such a duffer I’ll have to suffer the consequences, 
that’s all.” She waved her hand, trying to smile 
pluckily. 

All the long afternoon she lay on the couch by 


118 JOAN’S CALIl ORXIA SUMMER 


the open window, dozing and thinking of the pain 
in spite of herself, and at last five o’clock came 
and brought Joan back. 

“You poor old pal, you,” she exclaimed, throw- 
ing her hat and jacket on the bed, “I thought 
of you every single minute. Oh, Helen, it was 
wonderful, the way they melted up the rock and 
all the metal came pouring out, a perfect stream 
of fire. It made me think of all the stories I had 
read of the black dwarfs and how they carried 
bags of gold into the mountains and melted them 
in the fiery furnaces. Oh, yes, and Mr. Stark, 
the ‘knight,’ you know,” teasingly, “gave us each 
a nugget of gold as a souvenir. Here is yours, 
with his best remembrances.” She held it out, an 
oddly shaped lump of gold that Bob had declared 
looked just like a chewed piece of gum only nice 
and golden. Bob’s metaphors were always some- 
what mixed. “It isn’t fair either,” added Joan. 
“He’s shown partiality because yours is the 
prettiest.” 

Helen smiled, almost forgetting her pain. 

“He is nice, and it’s a beauty,” she said. 
“Won’t it make a lovely pendant, Joan?” 

“Yes, and every time you look at it, you can 
remember him.” 

“Indeed, I won’t,” Helen laughed ruefully; 
“I’ll remember my sprained ankle. I know that 


THE KNIGHT OF THE MINES 119 


was a lesson to me to step over the pomps and 
vanities of this wicked world. I’m going to for- 
get him entirely.” 

“He said he had a sister out in California,” 
J oan remarked, as if it were an afterthought. 
“Maybe we’ll see him there through the sum- 
mer. Knights have a way of riding by the same 
highroad again, they say.” 

Helen flushed and said nothing more, only 
looked at the little gold nugget. There are 
some things that make one forget even a sprained 
ankle, she thought. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A TROUT BREAKFAST 

“San Francisco Call! Examiner! Chron- 
icle ! All the San Francisco papers.” 

“Gee, we’re in California,” called Scott, stick- 
ing his head out of the car window to watch the 
newsboys running up and down the platform of 
the first station after they had crossed the line. 
“Come on. Bob, let’s salute the fair land of the 
golden west.” 

It had been a wonderful trip. For two hours 
the train passed over Great Salt Lake, hundreds 
of gulls dipping and wheeling on every side in 
what Helen declared to be the very poetry of 
motion. Joan had no time for words. It 
seemed as if all she wanted to do was look and 
look out of the window at the beauty of it all as 
the sun sank low in the west and threw a path of 
gold over the rippling waters of the lake. 

But the boys liked the desert best. As they 
swept across it through Western Utah and Ne- 
vada, Bob stared out in speculative marveling. 

“Say, Scott,” he said happily, “I’ll bet it’s just 


A TROUT BREAKFAST 121 

chock-full of skulls and bones and things if we 
only knew it, don’t you?”’ 

Then with the morning, they found themselves 
at last in California. When the girls had fin- 
ished dressing and stepped from their berths, they 
saw some of the passengers locking up suitcases 
and adjusting veils and hats. Scott came back 
with the morning papers and news. 

“The conductor says lots of people stop over 
for a few days’ fishing at Tahoe. Sounds like a 
lark to me, trout breakfast at the Tavern. How 
about it. Bob, old man?” 

He tipped Bob over the chair arm, and tickled 
his ribs persuasively. 

“A trout breakfast,” exclaimed Joan. “Real 
fresh trout?” 

“Could we catch them our own selves?” Bob 
asked eagerly. 

“Oh, if we only could stop — Helen paused 
eloquently, looking at Mr. Porter, who was 
scanning the headlines. He smiled over the top 
of his eye-glasses at the appealing faces. 

“Well, well, I don’t know but what we might,” 
he said. “Our tickets admit stopovers. We’ll 
be a bit later reaching San Francisco. Would 
you mind that?” 

A day later reaching San Francisco would 
mean a day later getting letters from home, and 


122 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Joan hesitated. She had wakened that morning 
with the thought of those home letters first in her 
mind, letters from Jack, from the dear mother, 
even a line from Margie. But the others were so 
anxious to stay, it did not seem fair for her to say 
she did not want to, and Scott hurried to notify 
the conductor of their change in plans. 

In a few moments the train drew up at 
Truckee, a lumber camp about fifteen miles from 
the lake, where the little narrow gauge was wait- 
ing to take them to Tahoe Tavern. It had been 
a case of hurry getting their things together at 
the last minute, but even Joan declared it was 
worth it when she saw the place. 

The hotel stood on a low bluff overlooking the 
lake and seemed built just to harmonize with the 
wildness of the surroundings. Outside it was 
covered with stained shingles and the interior 
was all unplastered, paneled in softly tinted nat- 
ural woods. On the floors were spread richly 
hued Navajo blankets, and everywhere hung the 
quaintly woven Indian baskets. 

“Oh, Joan, we must get some to take back east, 
please,” begged Bob. “Jack would love one of 
those rugs in his room, wouldn’t he, and JMumsey 
would use the baskets for all kinds of things.” 

The long dining room was delightful. It 
seemed as if each window framed a perfect view, 


A TROUT BREAKFAST 


123 


and the chandeliers were stag antlers with tiny 
electric lights at the tip ends. 

“Wouldn’t those be dandy in the club?” said 
Joan, enthusiastically. “Never mind, Bobbie. 
Wait till we get back home, and we’ll have Nav- 
ajo rugs and antlers for chandeliers, too, see if we 
don’t.” 

Nowhere in the world, Mr. Porter assured 
them, are such trout caught as rise in the ice cold 
waters of Lake Tahoe, and though the children 
were like hungry wolves, the breakfast far ex- 
ceeded their expectations. 

As soon as it was over, Scott hurried them 
down to the pier. He was a dandy courier, the 
girls said, for he asked questions of everyone, and 
had all plans made ahead for them. All the 
morning they spent on the little steamer that 
plied the surface of the lake and returned with 
prime appetites for luncheon. Bob and Mr. 
Porter were going to spend the afternoon fishing, 
but Scott had decided to hike with the girls over 
some of the wonderful walks above the hotel. 

Helen was sure her ankle was strong enough, 
but before they had gone far, she sat down re- 
gretfully under some tall pines. 

“You two go on. It’s too bad, but unless I’m 
careful now, I won’t be able to use my foot at all 
in San Francisco. You go ahead now, Joan, 


124 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


don’t argue a bit. I make a beautiful picture 
reclining here. Maybe an artist will come along 
and make his everlasting fortune painting me.” 

Promising they would not be long, J oan and 
Scott took up the trail alone. They climbed a 
quiet path leading up from the water, shaded by 
quaking aspens with the dark splendor of the 
pines rising behind them. All at once Joan gave 
a cry of surprised delight. They had come out 
on a small sunlit glade right in the heart of the 
forest, overspread with wildflowers, larkspurs, 
black eyed Susans, spii’sea, and, more beautiful 
than any, the graceful Columbines, white, purple, 
pink and yellow. Joan gathered them to her 
heart’s content, then they climbed on higher up 
until they came suddenly upon a view of the lake 
once more, looking like some great sapphire set in 
a circle of deepest jade. Joan sat down with a 
sigh of contentment, her hands folded over her 
flowers as she looked dreamily off at the water. 

“Oh, Scott, isn’t this heavenly? I wish Jack 
could see it.” 

Scott lifted his nose up like a happy spaniel, 
breathing in the air off the lake, as he sat beside 
her, his hands clasped around his knees. 

“I’ve heard of the lure of the wilds, and I guess 
we’re getting a whiff of it. They say that lake 
is over two thousand feet deep in places and in 


A TROUT BREAKFAST 


125 


others it has never been sounded. Honestly, 
Joan, did you ever think that water could be so 
clear? I believe we can see at least twenty feet 
below the surface, don’t you?” 

For a long while they sat there, gazing into the 
blue transparent depths trying to trace forms in 
the clouds that loitered like drifting ships on the 
breast of the mountains across the lake, listening 
to the notes of wood birds in the forest behind 
them. All at once Scott glanced at his watch and 
sprang to his feet. 

‘T hope Helen’s artist came along to paint her 
picture. We promised to be back by half an 
hour and it’s almost five now.” 

They ran down the path laughing rather guilt- 
ily but Helen had given up all hope of their 
coming back, and they found her sitting in a big 
chair on the hotel veranda. 

“You want to get that watch of yours fixed, 
Scott,” she said, teasingly. “Never mind. 
Don’t apologize. I’ve had a dandy time. A 
party of boys and girls came by and took pity on 
me. There’s a whole club of boys on here, Scott, 
making a walking tour to San Francisco, a really 
dandy crowd, and there’s a glee club from sonae 
girl’s college. One of them had a ukulele — ” 

“Again?” said Scott, blandly. “I didn’t un- 
derstand that one, sister mine.” 


126 JOANNS CALIFORNIA SUJVIMER 


“Ukulele she called it. You know those 
Hawaiian things that look like baby guitars. 
And she played on it for us, the most delicious 
music. Oh, Joan, it just makes you want to 
leave all the everyday world behind and be a 
queen of the islands, and go a-floating in one of 
their canoes, with flowers and slaves and every- 
thing.*’ 

“No wonder you never missed us,” Joan 
laughed. “I never heard one played either, did 
you, Scott?” 

“I did and I have,” said Scott blithely. “Some 
of the boys brought them home from college with 
them at Christmas time. They’re very persua- 
sive, Helen. I don’t think such a romantic 
young person as my one and only sister should 
be allowed to fall under the charm of the uku- 
lele.” 

There came a glad hail from the path below 
the veranda, and Bob flew along it as fast as his 
feet could carry him, holding up a string of trout 
for them to admire. 

“I caught them all by myself, too,” he shouted. 
“They’re beauties. There’s rainbow, and the cut 
throat with the red gash on its gullet, and speck- 
led trout. Cousin John caught one that weighs 
about ’leven pounds.” 

“Five, son,” corrected Mr. Porter, just behind 


A TROUT BREAKFAST 


127 


him. “You’re learning fisherman’s tricks too 
soon. Wait till you fish for tuna at Catalina and 
they carry you away with them.” 

Bob accompanied the fish personally to the door 
of the hotel kitchen, trying to impress on the chef 
that he should give him some of his very own fish 
for dinner, and then joined the others on the ve- 
randa. Here he made friends with the chip- 
munks and one of them actually ran up his knee 
and poked its head inquisitively into his trouser 
pocket. 

“I just wish Margie could have seen that,” he 
said thoughtfully. “She won’t ever believe it 
was a really truly chipmunk.” 

That evening the glee club and the boys of the 
walking club joined forces to give an entertain- 
ment. First came an hour of rollicking college 
songs all the way from “Nellie Was a Lady,” to 
“Swing Low, Sweet Chario:t.” Then the boys 
went through military evolutions and acrobatic 
stunts that left Bob green with envy. 

When it was all over, and the last cheering had 
died away as the audience rose to sing “America,” 
Mr. Porter proposed a stroll down the long pier 
that extended far out into the lake. Behind them 
was the tavern with its brilliant lights and sounds 
of gayety, and ahead of them the silence of the 
unfathomable night, the full moon rising over 


128 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Mount Tom, and in its radiance, the water reflect- 
ing a thousand glowing colors. 

“Oh, listen,” Helen exclaimed softly, laying 
her hand on Joan’s arm. “Now do you hear it?” 

Out in the shadowy darkness darted a boat, and 
from it came the rippling, tinkling music and 
voices singing in a minor cadence, 

“Enchanting is the scene when the silvery moon 
is beaming. 

On murmuring waters at my dear Kaikiki. 
Fair Hawaii— Fair Hawaii.” 

Into the wake of the moonlight they came, and 
the girls waved to the singers, recognizing some 
of the boys and girls they had met that afternoon. 
Then came another song, fraught with melody, 

“I love you, California, 

You’re the greatest state of all. 

I love you in the winter, summer, spring and fall. 
I love your fertile valleys, your dear mountains 
I adore. 

I love your grand old ocean, and I love your 
rugged shore.” 

Fainter and fainter came the voices, dying 
away as the singers passed from sight. 


A TROUT BREAKFAST 


129 


“California — California !” 

With a long sigh of delight Joan turned to 
Scott, saying, 

“What a welcome! It seems as if it were 
meant just for us.” And she hummed the last 
bar dreamily, 

“I love you, California.” 

The next morning they were back on the train 
again, passing through very different scenery 
from Utah’s mountains and desert. Here was 
the Truckee River, a rollicking stream, joyful in 
waterfalls and rapids tumbling in green foam, 
then for long stretches dashing over great rocky 
bowlders and dividing to fonn tiny islands. 
Along the shores were tall lumber stacks, with 
here and there a glimpse of an occasional sawmill 
or paper factory. Far in the distance rose the 
purple foothills, covered with smaU scrub pines, 
and Bob cried out, 

“Oh, look at the forest of Christmas trees, 
Joan!” 

Passing Donner Lake the conductor told Scott 
the story of the ill fated party that had perished 
there in 1846. Joan declared she couldn’t feel 
that it was all real at all, this racing up to dizzy 
heights, up and up to the very summits of the 
Sierras, then plunging into the snowsheds and 
down again into the bright sunlight. Above 


130 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


them, around them everywhere at this stage of 
the journey, rose the majestic peaks, snow 
crowned and mysterious. Here in these cloud- 
lands tiny threadlike streams gi*ew to plunging 
torrents ! It was icy cold and Helen hugged her 
sweater around her closer. 

“Well,” she cried, “if this isn’t just like win- 
ter.” 

Early in the afternoon the train wound its way 
down from the heights into the Sacramento Val- 
ley, the scenery gradually becoming less rugged 
until the rolling hills gave way to fields under 
cultivation where the grain was already harvested. 
Then at last came their first glimpse of orange 
groves, glossy green leaves and golden fruit. 
Terraced hills rose now with olive groves, soft 
silvery gray in tone, and fertile plains as far as 
the eye could reach. It was very warm again,, 
and the girls slipped off their sweaters, while 
Scott hummed under his breath, 

“California — California !” 

It was Mr, Porter who first called Bob’s 
attention to the sign, “Pacific Fruit Ex- 
change.” 

“That’s where a lot of your oranges and fruit 
comes from. Those long lines of freight trains 
are waiting to carry it east.” 

The train stopped at Sacramento long enough 


A TROUT BREAKFAST 


131 


for them to take a little breath of air along the 
platform, and then they took the road once more, 
passed the terraced hills all along the Sacramento 
river until towards sundown there came a keen 
salt tang to the air, reminding them they were 
not far from the ocean. At last the long train 
was ferried over the Sacramento, something that 
Bob had been looking forward to all the way, but 
so easily was it done that he did not notice the 
change in motion until they were almost over, 
when he cried out, 

“Oh, dear, we’re ’most on the other side, and I 
didn’t even know we’d started, Joan.” 

Joan laughed. She felt alert and alive in every 
nerve as they neared their journey’s end. Peo- 
ple were hurrying off the cars and on the big 
ferry boat that awaited them. Mr. Porter and 
Scott secured good seats on the upper forward 
deck where they could all get the finest view of the 
city’s approach up the bay. It is like nothing in 
all the world, perhaps, this entrance to San Fran- 
cisco, the wide expanse of water, ferry boats 
crisscrossing in every direction like flying shuttles 
weaving some mystical pattern of fate, great 
ocean steamers from the Orient plowing their 
way in, others tugging at anchor chains, the 
rounded hills on which the city is built, and far 
off in the distance the gleaming waters of the 


182 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


(rolden Gate. Joan looked at it with tears rising 
to her eyes. 

“I did not know it could be so beautiful,” she 
said. 


CHAPTER IX 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 

‘‘Dear little twin,” Jack’s letter from home 
began, “I’ve missed you terribly, and no mistake, 
but I know you must be having a wonderful trip, 
so try to be content. Only write often and make 
the letters as long as you can.” 

The “Junior Travebng Club,” as Joan had 
dubbed them, were occupying the sitting room of 
the hotel suite Mr. Porter had engaged for the 
stay in San Francisco. Joan was in the big arm 
chair by the window, Helen curled up in a comer 
of the couch, Scott and Mr. Porter poring over 
eastern newspapers, and Bob, reclining restfully 
upside down in another armchair, was trying to 
decipher some hieroglyphics he had received from 
Margie. 

“Well,” Helen declared. “I don’t beheve 
Theo misses us one bit. Tennis every day and 
two dances in view. ‘Out of sight, out of 
mind.’ ” 

“Just listen to this,” Joan read on. “Jack says 
Happy Day is home and Pappy has consented at 


134 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


last. She is going to the specialist in New York 
just as soon as Cousin John gets back. Dear 
little girl, I’m so glad for her. Wouldn’t it be 
splendid if her sight could be saved after all? It 
wouldn’t be the first time that oculists have been 
mistaken. Whatever’s struck you, Bob ?” 

Bob’s heels waved ecstatically in the air. He 
had been chuckling to himself for some time, and 
finally exploded, 

“Oh, you just ought to read what Margie’s 
written. It beats anything, Joan. You read 
it, ’cause I have to laugh too much.” 

He passed the funny irregular little scrawl 
over to Joan, and she read it aloud, 

“Dear Bob, It’s been awful lonesome ever 
sence you went away. The little white pigs got 
out the other day and went to the gate looking 
for you.” Here she had drawn eight comical ob- 
jects, evidently intended for pigs, although Bob 
declared he never would have recognized them if 
it hadn’t been for the curly tails. 

“Then,” Joan read on, “Val’tine got lost, that 
is, we thought she was lost, but she was in a bruro 
drawer all the time, and when I opened the 
drawer she jumped, like this — ” Here she had 
drawn other objects labeled “This is Tony look- 
ing for Val’tine.” Then another, “.This is me 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 185 


calling ‘kitty/ ” and finally, “This is the way she 
jumped out of the drawer. 

“Good-by, lovingly your sister and friend, 

“Maegie.” 

“I do think Margie must be the artist of the 
family/’ Joan declared, laughingly, as she held 
the page out for inspection. 

“Well, she may need an art education, but I 
don’t think a little spelling as she goes along 
would hurt her,” Helen said. “Aren’t those pigs 
funny, though?” 

There were letters, too, from California, ex- 
pressing Mr. and Mrs. Monroe’s pleasure at see- 
ing them all so soon. Inclosed in Helen’s letter 
from her mother was one for Joan, and the lat- 
ter’s eyes filled with quick tears as she read it. 
She was beginning to feel her first pangs of home- 
sickness, getting farther and farther away from 
her own mother and Jack, and the warm sincer- 
ity of the letter touched her to the heart. She 
gave it to Helen to read. 

“I think your mother is a dear to send me that,” 
she said softly. “I love her already.” 

In Scott’s letter from his father, the closing 
sentences made him feel rather sober. They 
made him realize that the future held many re- 
sponsibilities for him. 


186 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


‘ J am glad, laddie, that you will soon be here. 
I find I need my son in many ways. It is doubt- 
ful, Scott, whether I shall ever be entirely well 
again, and the time may come when you will have 
to look after Helen and your mother. I mustn’t 
cast a shadow over your homecoming, though, for 
after all, I am in better health than many men of 
my age, and the California climate has certainly 
been of great benefit to me. We shall have much 
to be thankful for in being all together in this 
beautiful place.” 

The next morning they settled down to answer 
the home letters. Bob especially spending much 
time and care over his. He wrote a queer mix- 
ture, trying to cover the entire journey from be- 
ginning to end for Margie’s delectation and the 
result was the funniest compound of mountains 
and prairie dogs, chipmunks and fishing. But as 
he said contentedly when it was over Margie was 
not one to criticize. It was almost twelve o’clock 
when Mr. Porter came in. 

“I’m sorry, but we’ll have to cut the letter writ- 
ing short if we’re going out this afternoon,” he 
told them. “There’s too much to see and no time 
to lose.” 

“Let’s ride on the ferry boat over and over 
again,” suggested Bob, who had been delighted 
with the experience the night before, and felt he 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 137 


would be contented just to ride back and forth 
almost indefinitely. 

“We want to see the art shops and Golden Gate 
Park,” Joan reminded him. 

“I’m for Berkeley and a climb up Tampalpais,” 
Scott exclaimed, but Mr. Porter shook his head, 
laughing at the clamor. 

“We can’t very well cover it all, youngsters. 
You’ll have to pick and choose. Suppose we 
choose Chinatown for this afternoon, and take 
to-morrow for the Cliff House and the Park. 
The trips over the Bay can come later. Bob boy.” 

“Chinatown,” cried Helen, springing up from 
her letters at the name. “That was what I 
wanted most to see. It will be almost as nice as 
seeing it by night.” 

They all hurried to get ready, only Bob, w^ho 
waited to add a very characteristic postscript to 
his letter. 

“P. S. — I’ll have to close now ’cause we’re go- 
ing to see the Chinese this afternoon and to-mor- 
row we’re going to the Cliff House where the 
seals are, only they’re not sealskins (I mean like 
mother had a coat of). And what do you sup- 
pose, Margie, in this hotel the beds are in the 
wall, not on the floor like they are at home.” 

“There,” he said happily, “guess that will sur- 


138 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


prise Her. She never thought of having beds in 
the walls.” 

“P. P. S. again. Give Prince an extra lump 
of sugar and tell him I’m coming back some time. 
Kind regards to the pigs.” 

Chinatown was certainly amusing. Mr. Por- 
ter engaged a guide, a very dignified and conse- 
quential person who spoke careful English and 
looked over their heads in a faraway manner that 
Joan said was exactly like Pooh-bah in “The Mi- 
kado.” 

“ ‘Run away, little girls, run away. Can’t talk 
to little girls like you,’ ” she quoted mirthfully to 
Helen behind the stately back of the guide as they 
followed him through the narrow streets, listen- 
ing to his descriptions of the oriental looking 
houses on each side. 

“If I were only trundling along in a nice little 
rickshaw with a parasol over my head, I’d feel as 
if this were the really truly orient,” said Helen. 
“Oh, Joan, I just saw the prettiest white silk 
hand embroidered fan in a window. I want it 
for Mother.” 

But, as Bob said, it was a case of “Follow your 
leader,” and they trotted after the guide up three 
narrow flights of stairs into a Chinese temple or 
Joss house where the fumes of incense were almost 
overpowering. Scott drew Joan’s attention to 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 139 


a red disc above the altar, typifying the sun, and 
told her how in China all the temples face the 
rising sun. The altar was loaded with gold leaf, 
gorgeous peacock feathers adding to the effect. 

The guide motioned them to stand near the 
railing, while he recited in a haughty, monotonous 
tone, 

“The word Joss is a corruption of the Portu- 
guese word for God. The Chinese are very re- 
ligious. When they enter their house of wor- 
ship they kowtow in reverence before their deity 
and burn incense in his honor.” 

Here he bowed likewise, and handed each one a 
small green object, shaped like a cartridge, but 
which he explained, was incense. 

Leaving the temple behind, they passed 
through streets lined with grocery stores where all 
kinds of strange vegetables were for sale. Bob 
discovered a brand new diversion, though, watch- 
ing an old Chinaman who sat out on the sidewalk 
making change. 

“Watch him,” cried Scott. “I do believe he 
is putting the pieces of money in his ear. I’d 
never have thought of using my ear for a nice 
handy little pocketbook.” 

Bob was silent, trying to see how the Chinaman 
accomplished it, so he could amaze Margie with 
the stunt, but other things drew him away. One 


140 JOAN'S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


dark little shop boasted an array of dried snakes 
and lizards. From the side of its door hung 
bunches of dusty herbs, and inside were little bins 
filled with all kinds of dried foods. 

“Look, Bob,” Joan whispered, “that stout old 
herb doctor has fingernails at least five inches 
long.” 

“Don’t you know that is a sign of great learn- 
ing,” the guide said gravely. “The longer his 
nails are, the better doctor he is. This,” he waved 
his hand at the establishment they came to next. 
“This is the largest Chinese store in America. 
Sing Fat is not the name of the proprietor, but 
is a saying signifying great prosperity. Here 
I will leave you for awhile, as he will be glad to 
have you look over his collection of Oriental goods 
even if you do not buy any. I will whistle out- 
side when it is time to go on.” 

Helen, who was always the first to loosen her 
purse strings, was the first one inside the doorway, 
excitedly motioning Joan to follow. 

“Just think, four floors of these lovely things,” 
she exclaimed. “Let’s buy a lot of our presents 
here, Joan. I wonder what your mother would 
like best, an embroidered centerpiece, or a piece 
of Satsuma.” 

But Joan was in another aisle, bending over a 
quaint statuette with Bob and Scott. 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 141 


‘‘I’m going to buy it for Jack,” she said, de- 
lightedly. “It’s the three wise monkeys, Bob. 
They are on a temple in Japan and this one holds 
his hands over his eyes, see? That means, ‘See no 
evil.’ Then this one has his clasped over his ears. 
That means ‘Hear no evil.’ And the last one 
holds his lips fast shut, meaning ‘Speak no 
evil.’ ” 

“There ought to be another one,” said Bob, 
sniffing. “Did you smell that funny incense 
stuff he’s burning way in the back, like old dried 
rat tails? I’d have another monkey holding his 
nose, if I’d made that for Chinatown, and call it 
‘Smell no evil.’ ” 

“Bob, you’re impossible,” laughed Joan. “I 
know Jack will like this, and I’ve got a little hand 
carved ivory elephant for Theo.” 

“Joan Clayton,” called Helen imperatively. 
“You must see this jade. I want a necklace of 
it. It’s the sacred stone, I think.” 

“It is lovely,” Joan agreed, wishing she had 
enough money to buy the beautiful green neck- 
lace for her mother. “But I can’t, and it’s no use 
in pining for it,” she said happily. “I want to 
find a real Chinese doll for Margie, with straight 
bangs and almond eyes.” 

Bob had sauntered away by himself towards 
the back of tbe store, and was fairly gloating 


142 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


over a variety of things there, miniature islands 
with quaint pagodas and little bridges, ducks and 
swans that floated on the water, a tiny owl and 
geese with bright little eyes made of mother-of- 
pearl. After a longing look at a row of bronze 
elephants pacing over a curved bridge, he went 
down another side aisle and out of the store to 
see what was happening on the sidewalk. 

Meantime Mr. Porter had been busily selecting 
a beautiful screen and rare teakwood stand. 

“Those are to go back to your mother and 
Theo,” he told Joan. “Do you think they will be 
all right?” 

“I think they’re wonderful. Cousin John,” 
J oan exclaimed. “It’s just like traveling around 
with a magician who can make all sorts of things 
come true.” 

Just then the shrill whistle outside warned 
them it was time to leave, and reluctantly they 
obeyed its call. 

“Oh, dear,” sighed Helen. “I could stay in 
there a week. I never saw so many interesting 
things all together, and just begging you to buy 
them.” 

As they started up the street. Bob was found 
to be missing. He had disappeared as com- 
pletely as if the ground had opened and swal- 
lowed him up, and though the guide questioned 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 143 


two or three bystanders, the reply was always a 
shake of the head and a mild denial, 

“No sabe. We no see lil boy, lil boy lost/’ 

“I do think he might have waited a second,” 
Joan exclaimed. “I saw him looking at those 
little islands and water gardens last.” 

Scott shook his head. 

“It was longer than a second, I’m afraid. It 
took just exactly twenty minutes to buy the jade 
necklace, to say nothing of the other things.” 

In and out of each shop along the little nar- 
row crooked street, they hunted the missing trav- 
eler. Just as Joan thought it was time to notify 
the police, one curious old Chinaman who leaned 
against the side of his shop smoking a long pipe, 
pointed with it to a restaurant upstairs over a 
curio shop. 

“Li’l boy walkee up there,” he said, pleasantly. 

And sure enough, there they found the recreant 
Bob, monarch of all he surveyed, making a tour of 
inspection of the place and eyeing with fascin- 
ated interest its customers eating rice and chop 
suey with chopsticks. 

“Robert!” Joan spoke for the first time in a 
voice that made Bob start perceptibly. “What 
do you suppose mother would say? You know 
better than to get lost in this way and worry us 
all.” 


144 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“I wasn’t lost, Joan, honest and true,” replied 
the young man aggrievedly. “You might have 
known I’d be in here. I stopped in a barber 
shop too and you should have seen them shaving 
an old fellow’s head, all excepting the place for 
his queue.” He stopped, staring again in admir- 
ing wonderment at the dexterity with which the 
chopsticks were handled. “I wish I could eat 
that way. I’ll get some chopsticks myself.” 
He smiled, but Joan’s face was full of a smoth- 
ered indignation that roused even Bob’s respect. 
“She hasn’t Roberted me before since we left 
home,” he thought, meditatively. And all the 
rest of the way, much to his mortification, he had 
to hold big sister’s hand. Joan was long suffer- 
ing and tender hearted, but there was a limit, she 
declared. And Bob displayed a curious meek- 
ness and resignation. 

“Now,” said the guide, w'ith a flourish, “we are 
about to visit a Chinese home.” 

He led them through a little narrow street 
paved with rough cobble stones, and down half a 
dozen steps into a dark underground room. At 
the door he turned to explain with the same de- 
tached air of pompous dignity that had delighted 
the children from the beginning, 

“This family, like many others, has been con- 
vei*ted to Christianity. I will ask the children to 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 145 


sing some of their native airs and then some of 
this country’s well known songs.” 

There were fom’ sturdy little fellows standing 
in a row just like Chinese dolls, Helen declared, 
with their oddly shaven heads and oblique eyes. 
The baby girl was only six months old, but the 
others were all prepared to entertain visitors, and 
sang enthusiastically the Chinese rendition of 
“Bright Jewels,” which they had learned from 
the missionaries. But the funniest of all was 
when they tried to sing “America” with a Chinese 
accent, and even the baby started in to cry. But 
Scott led in the applause and they gave several 
encores willingly enough. Then the five year 
old boy came timidly forward, holding out some 
picture postals of the family. 

“Well, they did well that time,” Helen said 
with a happy sigh, as they came up out of the little 
dark doorway, each with some of the postals to 
send off. “My goodness, they’re still singing at 
us, Joan.” 

Joan laughed and waved back to the little 
group standing in the doorway, waving to them. 
They looked just like little dolls, she declared. 

“Before leaving Chinatown, I shall take you 
to hear one of the oldest and best Chinese musi- 
cians in America,” said the guide in his grave, 
punctilious manner. He turned into another 


146 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


side street and led them into another basement, 
through an underground passageway and into a 
dimly lighted room where an old Chinaman stood 
before a long table. Bob whispered to Scott 
that he had a real queue, but Joan had her eye on 
him, so he subsided as the music began. Helen 
declared afterwards that it made her think of the 
old riddle, “What makes more noise than one pig 
going under a gate?” 

“Well, each to his kind,” Mr. Porter told her, 
as he examined the quaintly made instruments, 
and paid the old man for his share of their enter- 
tainment. “It’s time we were going back to the 
hotel now.” 

“I know what we are,” Joan said suddenly as 
they were leaving, “pilgrims of happiness.” 

“Guess you’re right,” Scott answered with 
mock dolefulness. “I know I’m getting foot- 
sore and weary and pretty near hollow.” 

At parting the guide presented each of them 
with a piece of Chinese money, valued at about 
one hundredth part of a cent, and a small piece of 
cardboard marked with red and black spots, w hich 
he said was one of their playing cards. 

“These be souvenirs,” quoth Joan, tucking hers 
carefully away in her handbag, while Bob 
crammed his into a pocket that already bulged 
with treasures. 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 147 


“Bob, where are you going to practice with 
those chopsticks?” asked Scott teasingly. But 
Bob trudged on with a serene and lofty air of ab- 
straction. He was really too exalted with the 
spirit of adventure to descend to any explana- 
tions. 

The following day they started bright and 
early for the Cliff House. On the way Mr. Por- 
ter pointed out the Presidio to them, the largest 
military reservation that exists anywhere within 
the limits of a city. Then on to Sutro Heights 
with its beautiful Italian garden. The girls 
fairly reveled in this spot. Along its shaded 
walks grew rare shrubs and strange trees, with 
hedges of geraniums nearly five feet high. 

“Joan,” said Helen solemnly. “Pinch me. 
Do you see giant fuchsias over there? And are 
there really hydrangea trees ?” 

“I begin to feel like Alice in Wonderland,” 
laughed Joan. “Oh, do look at this darling 
grotto and the little gnomes.” 

Far below them they could hear the roar of the 
Pacific and catch glimpses of breakers through 
the dense slimbbery. Going on to the Cliff 
House, they passed the Sutro Baths, where hun- 
dreds were bathing, but Bob w^as in a rush to get 
down to the ocean itself and see the seals. 

“But, Joan, they look like big brown moles,” 


148 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 

he exclaimed dubiously when he finally did come 
in sight of th^. ‘'Wish I could get out there 
with a long pole and stir them up.” 

“Do you know what would happen if you did?” 
Mr. Porter said, his eyes twinkling as he watched 
Bob’s serious face. “They would be offended 
and swim away. Sometimes when they are thor- 
oughly miffed they will stay away for months.” 

“Well, of course, I w’ouldn’t want them to feel 
as badly as all that,” Bob replied, much im- 
pressed, and he contented himself with watching 
the seals through the opera glasses his cousin’ 
rented for him. 

It was so cool that even Scott w'as satisfied to 
watch the big breakers* roll in on the beach until 
it was time for luncheon, and they started for 
Golden Gate Park. This was what Joan liked 
best. First there was the lake with its w ealth of 
water lilies, and the museum, where Helen de- 
clared her eyes were dazzled, she had looked on so 
much that w^as curious and rare. But Joan 
found a real little Japanese tea garden with 
arched bridges, stone storks and lanterns, and 
stately pergolas. 

“This is just darling,” exclaimed Joan fer- 
vently, sinking into a wdllow chair, and gazing 
around her. “Isn’t this little w^aitress just like 
a picture on a fan, Helen?” 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 140 


Tea was served to them in tiny cvips with “cov^ 
ers” as Bob whispered, but in such a loud under- 
tone that the little Jap maid turned and smiled 
at him, whereupon Bob blushed furiously and 
stared at the big butterfly bow on her back. 

Inside each napkin was folded a little Ameri- 
can flag, and rice cakes for each person. These 
were shaped like cocked hats and Joan found a 
motto in hers, a Japanese proverb which the little 
“Yum- Yum” girl, as Scott called her, told them 
meant, “Good luck is on your threshold.” 

“Another souvenir for my treasure box,” she 
cried gayly. “Won’t it be fun to look them all 
over with Theo and Margie when I get back 
home!” 

After tea, they rambleji around the quaint gar- 
dens, making new di^overies at every step. 
Helen declared she thought there should be a 
miniature Japanese garden in everybody’s back 
yard. Mr. Porter told them how even among 
the poorest, there is the love for flowers and 
beauty in arrangement. 

“Why, it’s just exactly like being a tiny doll 
one’s own self,” Joan declared, “in one of those 
little Jap gardens for table decoration. Look at 
the little arched bridge, Scott, and dwarfed trees 
everywhere. And do see those bird houses made 
of bamboo, Bobbie, and the queer stone turtles* 


150 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Don’t you want one to hide away in your pocket? 
It only weighs about three hundred probably.” 

“I like the smiling Buddhas,” Scott said. 
“Somebody told me there was a real Jap house 
around some place.” 

It was Bob who discovered it, almost hidden 
behind the thick wistaria vine. The children ex- 
plored it delightedly, fairly gloating over its slid- 
ing walls and screens, and the kakemonos on the 
walls. In one room two Japanese figures of 
men bent over their gambling outfits, and in an- 
other room were two geishas drinking tea. 

“Isn’t it queer,” said Helen, “how they sit on 
the floor and never use any chairs. And they 
sleep with a block of wood under their heads so 
as not to disarrange their hair. I rather like that 
plan myself, because I do hate to comb out a lot 
of snarls every day.” 

It was with real regret that they said good-by 
to this enchanting nook from Nippon land, and 
as they passed out of the gateway, they all waved 
farewell to the little Japanese maidens. 

The days were filled with new surprises after 
that. Long motor trips through Oakland and 
Berkeley, rides by trolley all around the suburbs 
of this wonderful city. Joan declared it seemed 
as if they could go on forever on a single fare, so 
generous was the system of transfers. Then, 


PILGRIMS OF HAPPINESS 151 


too, there were the markets and the fishermen’s 
wharves with their great catches of cod, lobster 
and bass. Scott liked the big docks, crowded 
with steamships from all parts of the world, and 
the girls teased to return to the shops with their 
beautiful displays of oriental art and craftsman- 
ship. 

But Bob rather favored the cafeterias. Here 
they could take their own trays and pick out just 
what they chose, “the only trouble is,” Joan said, 
^it’s so hard to make the right selection from so 
many good things.” One day Bob stood medi- 
tating over a choice between strawberry pie and 
blackberry pie, until Scott came along and sug- 
gested he take both. Bob came back to their 
table with a seraphic smile of content and said 
blandly as he set down his loaded tray, 

“That’s what Jack calls cutting the Guardian 
knot.” 

“Gordian, dear,” Joan corrected. “Don’t you 
remember how Alexander cut it?” 

“Gordian,” repeated Bob valiantly. “Any- 
how, I am convinced that Scott is a very, very 
val’ble and desir’ble member of our comp’ny. 
This is going to be a very satisfact’ry meal.” 

When it was all over, they declared though, 
that the best of all was the day they spent among 
the great trees at Santa Cruz. It only took about 


152 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


three hours to run out by auto through the beau- 
tiful mountain ranges, and they stopped right 
among the big redwoods. Joan named them the 
“Methuselahs of the forest,” and Scott thought 
her eyes just a shade browner and more full of 
sparkles than ever as she stood in one of the big 
chimney pines looking up at the sky. 

It was so wonderfully quiet that even Bob was 
silent, 

“I think it’s like some vast old cathedral,” said 
Joan, softly, “with the trees for pillars and the 
birds singing anthems all the time.” 

They ate their lunch of sandwiches and ice 
cream cones, sitting on a fallen giant, and Bob 
got fearfully mixed up trying to count the great 
rings that dated back to the time of the flood. 

Then, when twilight came, they motored back 
to the city, a little bit tired and quiet from what 
Mr. Porter called the immensity of it all. But 
Scott and Joan both declared it was a day to be 
marked by a white milestone, and all the others 
could be called red letter days, ten of them, since 
they had left home. 


CHAPTER X 


EL CAMINO EEAL 

“Doesn’t it seem odd to see the rain way out 
here I” J oan exclaimed when they started the fol- 
lowing morning for Santa Barbara. “Somehow 
you get into the notion that it always must be sun- 
shiny in California.” 

“It isn’t so much rain as a genuine ’Frisco fog,” 
laughed Mr. Porter. “We’ve been specially fa- 
vored by the weather man during our five days 
here, though no one ever minds this if he’s living 
out here. You’d have missed a good deal if you 
had gone away without getting right into the 
middle of one.” 

“Well, it is certainly the wettest fog I ever 
saw,” said Helen. “I’m positive some real drops 
fell on your new hat, Joan.” 

They were far along in the Santa Clara Valley 
when it lifted, and a wonderful panorama un- 
folded before them, miles of orchards, fairly 
bending low under their weight of apricots and 
prunes. 

“Oh, Helen, it makes me think of the old fairy 


154 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


tale about Mother Hulda when the trees cried 
out, ‘Pick me, pick me,’ ” said Joan delightedly. 
Suddenly there came the porter’s voice shouting 
through the car, 

“This is known as the Valley of Heart’s De- 
light. Once a year when all the rest of the coun- 
try is ice bound, the people here celebrate the 
feast of the blossoms.” 

“I saw it in February one year when I came 
through,” Mr. Porter told them. “It is truly a 
glorious sight. I hardly believe even the cherry 
blossoms in Japan could equal these. The whole 
valley seems to bloom in beauty.” 

On and on they sped, the train passing through 
fields golden with poppies and past groves of 
towering eucalyptus, great strange trees that con- 
stantly shed their bark. 

“Somehow,” Joan said, musingly, “they make 
me think of the old dryad tales. Maybe there are 
spirits imprisoned in those great ti'imks, and when 
the bark peels, perhaps they are trying to break 
the spell that binds them. I didn’t like the euca- 
lyptus at first, but now I love them. They make 
such glorious wind breaks.” 

“I’d like to just lay off and tramp all through 
here,” said Scott. “Wish Jack and I could do 
it next year together. We could camp out and 
get to places you don’t see on the train.” 


EL CAMINO REAL 


155 


“Oh, look,” called out Bob, craning his neck as 
the huge oil tank and derricks came in view. 
“Wonder what those are for?” 

“To calm the troubled waters,” Scott told him 
soberly. 

“Well,” Helen remarked in her point blank 
way, “I never thought I’d see acres and acres 
of sweet peas, red and pink and lavender.” 

“El Camino Real,” called the porter, and the 
children all watched eagerly for a glimpse of the 
old mission. Sure enough, there lay the mission 
road, winding like a white thread down from the 
mountains between the yellow fields. Joan’s 
heart gave a tlmob of wliat Bob would have called 
“sentimental ’motion,” at sight of it. Poor old 
Jack, way off in Hillview, if he had only been 
along to enjoy it too. 

“I know one thing,” Scott exclaimed. “It was 
a great thing for those old padres to make that 
road and found missions in the wilderness. It 
must have taken no end of courage as well as 
downright hard work to teach a lot of savages to 
be decent.” 

“I don’t think they were like real savages,” 
Joan said eagerly. “They were like the Nava- 
jos and the Pueblos, weren’t they. Cousin John? 
Oh, do look, Helen! I feel as if I might see 
Ramona out there any minute.” 


150 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


She pointed to the tall white adobe walls with 
mission towers rising high, and the arms of the 
cross gleaming in the vivid sunlight. Then at 
noon came the call of the bells faintly. From 
tliree o’clock the train ran along the ocean front, 
and they had the delight of watching the water, 
until in the cool twilight, at last they drew up at 
the attractive station in Santa Barbara. 

Joan thought of a stray bit of verse she had 
always loved, 

“And then the bells ! One stands with low bowed 
head 

While listening to their silvery tongues recite 
The sweet tale of the Angelus.” 

Santa Barbara seemed to the girls that first 
day, like some dream city nestling between the 
amethyst sea and her guardian mountains. Airy, 
feathery pepper trees and picturesque palms 
lined the streets of flower embowered houses. 
Above, the old white mission stood, its twin 
domed belfries seeming to utter a perpetual bene- 
diction over the city. 

The children wandered about the hotel grounds 
admiring the almost tropical jungle of banana, 
rubber and cocoanut trees. The air was heavy 
with the fragrance of roses and orange blossoms. 


EL CAillNO REAL 157 

and in the distance could be heard the surf rolling 
and tumbling along the beach. 

“My dear, this is southern California,” said 
Mr. Porter, slipping Joan’s hand through his 
arm, “are you disappointed?” 

“It’s just fairyland,” sighed Joan happily, her 
chin uplifted as she breathed in deep whiffs of the 
sweet scented air. “I have to keep pinching my- 
self to be sure I’m awake these days.” 

“No w'onder father and mother wouldn’t come 
back to our bleak, sober east after this,” said 
Scott. “I’m going to live and die in this "glo- 
rious climate of Calif orny.’ ” 

The next morning they all went up to the mis- 
sion. It was just exactly like the setting of a 
story, the branches of the pepper trees swaying 
softly, the square with its playing fountain, the 
old cross in front, and the mission bell with the 
inscription which Joan read reverently, 

“El Camino Real, 

Mission Santa Barbara, 

Founded December 4, 1786.” 

Mounting the steps to the red tiled corridor 
they came upon a bell marked "‘pull,” something 
which Bob proceeded to do with such force that it 
set the echoes ringing through the empty rooms 


158 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


within and quickly brought to the door a monk in 
the brown habit of the Franciscan order. 

He told them such interesting things in guiding 
them through the building. It was the most im- 
portant of all the old missions with thousands of 
Indians under its protection. Taking a color 
chart in his hands, he explained how the old 
fathers had taken great pains to make the Indians 
sing by note, and finally had hit upon the idea of 
giving each note a different color. 

In one of the rooms, the walls dated back over 
a hundred years, and had even now many of the 
original grills and timbers. There was a rawhide 
bedstead that pleased Bob, and chandeliers made 
by the Indians, besides matates for grinding corn 
and ollas or water jars. 

Bob had been prowling around by himself, and 
suddenly made a discovery. 

“What are these marks in the pavement for?” 

“The footprints of a mountain lion,” answered 
the padre, “There used to be so many in the 
mountains, they would steal down even to the 
doors of the mission.” 

He led the way into the church reverently, 
pointing out the statue of the patron saint, some 
fine pictures, besides many relics and the peaceful 
cemetery, “God’s Acre,” as he quaintly called it. 
Out here it was so quiet and restful among flow- 


EL CAMINO REAL 


159 


ers and shrubs that had been planted by the 
old monks themselves. Stooping, their guide 
plucked a few roses, and a spray from the great 
heliotrope that grew close to the wall, and handed 
them to Joan and Helen. 

'‘That is for remembrance,” he told them 
gently, with a smile of beautiful hospitality and 
courtesy. Ever afterwards, Helen declared 
dramatically when they returned to the hotel, the 
scent of heliotrope would bring back the old mis- 
sion garden, the shady cemetery beyond, and the 
Franciscan brother, as if it really carried a bene- 
diction with it. 

“What more is there to be seen?” asked Mr. 
Porter genially. “Surely we have nearly cov- 
ered it all.” 

“Only the Ifclfry, and then the garden where 
no women are permitted.” 

“Oh, dear,” Helen said, “I’m sure that’s the 
best place of all. Isn’t it just like men to keep 
that all for themselves?” 

“Never mind,” Joan smiled back. “We can 
climb the belfry and maybe up there we can peek 
over into the old garden.” 

“Climb those stairs!” exclaimed Mr. Porter, 
with a comic sigh. “No, indeed, young woman.” 

“I’m quite sure my ankle isn’t strong enough 
for such a puU^” retorted Helenj still piqued at 


160 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


not being allowed in the forbidden spot. “I in- 
tend to make my way down to the ocean — ^you and 
Scott can do all the climbing you want to, but 
there’s nothing to see at the top except the view, 
I suppose, and I can imagine that without much 
difficulty.” 

“Each to his mind,” was Joan’s gay response 
as she and Scott started up the stairs. 

Bob was already at the top and soon passed 
them on his way down. 

“There’s forty-five, that is, at first, and then 
you go up a dozen more and then to another lot 
of bells. Keep a-going and you’ll get there.” 

When they reached the end of the long climb, 
both Joan and Scott felt repaid, and stood some 
time in the old belfry looking over the sunny val- 
ley, On one side were the wooded slopes of 
Montecito and in the nearer distance were fields 
of yellow mustard and the great expanse of 
ocean. 

There was something very solemn to both of 
them in being there among the old bells, “that 
call to vespers and to mass,” Joan softly quoted. 
“Can’t you almost fancy you see the Indians 
coming along the road to mass?” 

Scott nodded, 

“It was pretty tough to have to give up all that 
work.” Then he added, half teasingly, ‘‘Do 


EL CAMINO REAL 161 

you know, J oan, I think you are awfully like the 
patron saint of this old mission.” 

“What an idea,” laughed Joan. “What ever 
put that into your head?” 

“Well, you know, I’m not much given to read- 
ing those old legends, but there was something 
in Dick’s book about Santa Barbara that did sort 
of remind me of you. She was so loyal and true 
and was put to death rather than give up her relig- 
ion. They say this mission is dedicated to her 
because it is by the ocean and sailors pray to her 
for courage before they set out on a stormy sea. 
Then mother has a picture of Santa Barbara, and 
it’s true, Joan, the forehead and mouth do remind 
me of you. I tell you it’s wnrth a lot to a fellow 
to know a girl like you.” 

“Thanks for your good opinion, kind sir,” Joan 
said, flushing. “It is mighty nice, I’m sure, and 
I’ll try extra hard after this to realize our Santa 
Barbara’s ideal. We’U deserve a scolding if we 
stay here any longer,” and she ran down the steps. 

They reached the gate of the mission in time to 
catch a street car. The others were still at the 
beach discussing plans for the afternoon, Mr. 
Porter having decided to make the remainder of 
their trip by automobile. 

“Won’t it be fun?” called Helen as soon as the 
two came within hearing distance. “We sent a 


162 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


telegram telling father we’ll come directly to the 
cottage.” 

“It will be a pleasant ride through this part of 
the country, I am sure,” said Mr. Porter. “You 
will enjoy it more than by train. You’ll have to 
hurry. We start in less than an hour.” 

It was a speedy trip. As they approached the 
city, Mr. Porter pointed out a low white house 
marked by a cross as “El Camulos Ranch,” bet- 
ter known, he explained, as the home of Ramona 
and all wished it were possible to stop and see the 
“sunny gallery with its whitewashed walls and 
the courtyard and the fountain,” the description 
of which they had read and loved. 

With the tang of salt air, Helen’s spirits rose. 

“ ‘Over the world and under the world and 
back at the last to you,’ ” sang Joan, her cheeks 
pink from the ride. “Helen, don’t you wish you 
had a flag or a megaphone to call them?” 

Helen hugged her vigorously. 

“You can laugh, but just wait till you meet 
mother. Then you’ll know why I feel just h'ke 
whooping. It isn’t any fun being three thousand 
miles away from your mother. Oh, Joan, I 
didn’t mean that,” she added with quick regret. 
But J oan smiled back pluckily. 

“It won’t be long,” she answered* 


CHAPTER XI 


THE BEACHES 

It was a quiet beach which the Monroes had 
chosen as an ideal place to spend a few months. 
Their cottage was a “real Californian,” the early 
mission style, unplastered. Outside it was shin- 
gled and inside walls of native redwood formed an 
attractive background for the few choice pictures 
which Mrs. Monroe had placed there. There 
was a long living room with a hot blast stove, and 
three bedrooms with the usual wall beds. 

For an hour or so, Mr. Monroe and his wife 
had been waiting on the veranda, watching anx- 
iously the passing automobiles. At last Mrs. 
Monroe laid aside the collar she was embroider- 
ing for Helen and started down the steps. 

“It seems to me it is very late, dear. I hope 
there has not been an accident.” 

“Don’t even think of it,” he told her, when 
suddenly a car shot into sight. “They are here 
now.” 

“Yes,” cried Mrs. Monroe. “Scott’s in front 
and that’s Helen waving her handkerchief!” 


164 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Scarcely had she finished when the car stopped 
in front of the house and Scott sprang out. 

“Mother, mother,” Helen cried. “I thought 
we would never get here. WeVe had a wonder- 
ful trip and there’s lots to tell, but, oh, I’m so glad 
to see you and father.” 

They were like two sisters, Helen and her 
mother, laughing and crying in each other’s em- 
brace, and had it not been for the tiny lines of 
care in Mrs. IMonroe’s face and the occasional 
silver thread in the light hair, they would have 
seemed almost the same age. 

Another moment, Scott was kissing his mother 
and she was saying how splendid he was, and 
how long the months of separation had seemed, 
while Helen was excitedly trying to tell her father 
everything at once. ^ Breaking short, she cried, 

“Oh, mother, we’re forgetting all about Mr. 
Porter and Bob and — ^mother, dear, this is Joan.” 

“Welcome to California,” called Mrs. Mon- 
roe, gayly, holding out her hand to first one and 
then another. “And thank you, Mr. Porter, for 
bringing our two chicks safely home to roost.” 

Joan fell in love with Mr. Monroe at once, as 
she had been confident she would, irresistibly at- 
tracted to the grave, quiet man with Scott’s 
smile. 

Their accommodations had been arranged, a 


THE BEACHES 


105 


suite engaged at the hotel near by for ^Ir. Por- 
ter and Bob, while Helen was to share her room 
with Joan. As the girls ran in to take off their 
hats and freshen themselves for dinner, Joan 
gave a cry of pleasm^e. On the walls were some 
kodak views of the house at Hillview, the 
veranda, with her mother and Jack sitting there, 
besides a picture of Margie in her cart and Theo 
with her tennis racket. On the dresser lay a pile 
of letters from her mother. Jack and Lidy. And 
then she felt really at home. 

The cottage was not directly on the water, but 
had a magnificent view of the ocean from the 
front windows, and the swish of the waves could 
be distinctly heard. It was, too, sufficiently 
near for the young folks to run to the beach in 
their bathing suits which had been the ‘‘con- 
vincing argument in its favor,” Mrs. Monroe had 
told her husband. 

The life at the beach was all new to them. In 
the mornings they were glad of their sweaters, as 
it was always cold and foggy, but even though 
they shivered, a short, brisk walk before break- 
fast would bring the rose hue to their cheeks. 
By eleven o’clock off went the wraps, for the sun 
was by that time, “hot enough to bake one,” as 
Helen used to say. The evenings were almost 
chilly, and they were glad to stuff all the 


166 JOAN’S Ciy:.IFORNIA SUMJIER 


crumpled newspapers they could find into the 
stove. 

Bob was crazy over it all and couldn’t see why 
he need ever wear anything except his bathing 
suit, and, as a matter of fact, he was in the water, 
or digging in the sand, practically the whole day 
long. 

There were other cottagers in whom the Mon- 
roes had become interested. Miss Saunders, the 
thin little teacher who had lately been retired on 
a pension. Now she lived in a modest one room 
cottage with her pet, Teddy, a Scotch terrier. 
Every day, when the world was well warmed, she 
would venture cautiously into the shallow water 
for her “morning bath.” It worried her because 
Teddy did not share her enthusiasm, and she 
would often spend many moments trying to coax 
him in. He disliked cold water, but was always 
eager to welcome her when she was ready for her 
sun-bath, and would bark fimously at any chance 
intruder, when, wapped in her steamer rug, she 
dozed under a big umbrella. 

There was, too, Ben Phillips, the crippled boy 
in the wheeled chair, who reminded them of little 
Paul Dombey. He had been sent by the fresh 
air fund for a month at the sea shore, and would 
sit all day long, listening to the “sad sea waves.” 
When Bob discovered the Dane children, he 


THE BEACHES 167 

was greatly excited and came running to the 
house, calling, 

‘‘What do you think? They used to live in 
Mexico and have the queerest names; there’s 
Mar’qu’ta and Fel-Fel” — here he floundered 
hopelessly. “Well, anyway, she said the boys at 
school call her ‘Fleas,’ Besides there’s Morris, 
he’s littler than me, but he’s got a ’Merican name 
— we’re going to have lots of fun together.” 

He stopped out of breath, for he had made 
what was, for him, a very long speech and Mrs. 
Monroe explained, 

“Mrs. Dane has a home in Hollywood. Re- 
cently she came up to California to educate the 
children, who were all born in Mexico. The old- 
est is Mariquita, which is Spanish for ‘little 
Marie.’ She is thirteen and the best swimmer 
on the beach for her age; the next is Felicita, 
whom I have dubbed Princess Curly-Locks, with 
curly brown hair — she is nine, while Morris, 
scarcely five, is a dear little chap with a winsome 
smile. Bob will have a good time with them and 
no mistake.” 

It would be hard to do justice to the days that 
followed. Joan and Helen learned to swim and 
would take the big waves without any trouble. 
After a week or so, Joan wrote Jack she had 
gained six and a half pounds, and w^as so tanned 


168 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


he would scarcely recognize her, while Helen’s 
arms looked like one big freckle. Bob was timid 
at first until his cousin took him out and held 
him while the waves broke over him. But he 
liked best to wade into the water with the children, 
and then run scurrying back as the waves rolled 
threateningly in. 

It was fun, too, to play in the sand, tumbling 
about, digging for crabs or gathering sea weed 
which had been cast up by the tide. At times he 
would call Joan or Helen to come and bury him 
in the sand, but he never could keep still enough, 
and a pink toe would be sure to wriggle out 
and “spoil it all,” Felicita would mournfully 
say. 

As time went on, Mr. and Mrs. INIonroe en- 
joyed the young folks more and more. The 
letter which Scott had received from his father 
while in San Francisco had established a close 
bond between the two and led to many confiden- 
tial talks. There was no further reference made 
to his health, but the older man felt, no matter 
what happened, he would not be disappointed in 
his son who stood ready, as far as he could, to 
shoulder responsibilities. 

Helen and her mother had always been most 
congenial, and Joan fitted into her place in the 
household in a way that delighted them all. In 


THE BEACHES 


169 


fact, “She seems exactly like one of us,” was 
the comment Mrs. Monroe made more than once 
to her husband. 

“Yes,” was his reply, “she is all and more than 
they wrote, interesting, thoughtful, loyal to her 
friends, quick in her sympathies, and ready to 
enter into every pleasure. It is a genuine treat 
to know such a girl.” 

It had been his custom from the first to take 
his constitutional before dinner on the walk that 
ran along the ocean front, and it became the 
usual thing for Joan to accompany him. The 
water never seemed twice alike, and the sunsets 
were glorious. 

“And the beauty of it is,” Mr. Monroe would 
say, “it is always like this summer and winter, 
never cold as it is on the Atlantic coast. They 
tell me there isn’t a day all the year around, when 
one cannot bathe in comfort.” 

They became great chums, as Scott had pre- 
dicted, and before she knew it Joan was telling 
him all about her life in Hillview, and about J ack 
in particular. 

“We’ve set our hearts on going through college 
together,” she said. “He’s determined to be a 
lawyer, and I’m sure he will make a great suc- 
cess, for he is such a student and speaks splen- 
didly.” 


170 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


‘*If Jack is at all like his twin,” replied Mr. 
Monroe, “he must be a fine felloAv. You may 
tell him for me, that she has won our hearts and 
that it will be hard for us to let her go, when 
the time comes to return home.” 

Joan flushed with pleasure and continued ear- 
nestly, 

“Then I haven’t told you about Lidy Clay and 
her sister. Jack and I found them at the foot of 
the hill in an old cabin. You couldn’t help but 
love them if you knew them. It’s strange,” she 
continued with a sigh, “but I can’t get over the 
feeling I have, that there is a resemblance be- 
tween Lidy and one of our old family portraits. 
Of course it is only imagination for, as mother 
says, there can’t be anything in it.” 

Her listener was so sympathetic that Joan was 
soon repeating the story of the reckless son who 
had broken his father’s heart and been disin- 
herited, over sixty years ago, and then about 
shiftless Pappy Clay and Maw, who, while only 
a mountain girl, had received sufficient educa- 
tion to be ambitious for her children. She ended 
by saying, 

“Even though there is no relationship, mother 
thinks we ought to do all we can to help 
them.” 

She stopped, looking out at the waves rolling 


THE BEACHES 


171 


up on the shore. Her eyes were misty, as they 
always were when she talked of Lidy and Happy 
Day. 

Mr. Monroe was much interested, and as they 
walked slowly back to the cottage, he asked her 
many questions about the children. 

“While any connection between the Clays and 
the Claytons would be most improbable, your in- 
terest in them is certainly beautiful, and from all 
you say, they must be deserving of every good 
that can come to them.’' 

One morning at breakfast, Mrs. Monroe ex- 
claimed, 

“While we are all enjoying the life here very 
much, I feel we should know something of the 
other resorts, so I suggest that we spend to- 
morrow at Ocean Park. That will give you an 
opportunity to see the real life of the beach and 
appreciate what it means to the people of all 
classes to have these great pleasure grounds, ab- 
solutely free. On Saturday afternoon the ocean 
front is always crowded with those who are worn 
with the week’s toil, from the bank clerk, whose 
brain is fagged from hours over his accounts, to 
the shop girl, who finds herself well nigh ex- 
hausted, to say nothing of the tired mothers with 
fretful children to whom the fresh sea breeze 
brings renewed strength.” 


172 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“Can Mar’quita and Morris go, too?” asked 
Bob, who saw an exciting day ahead. 

“Yes, and we’ll take a real beach lunch for 
you children — wienes and peanut butter sand- 
wiches, besides dill pickles.” 

“Good ’nough,” was Bob’s response, and he 
was off like a shot to tell the other children of the 
good time ahead. 

It was scarcely more than fifteen minutes’ ride 
in the electric cars. When they reached the 
great resort, the fog had not lifted and the pier 
with its varied attractions was still veiled in mist. 
The ocean was fine and Joan caught Helen’s arm, 
exclaiming, 

“See, the white caps! Isn’t it glorious?” 

Many were already in the water, and the young 
people, with Mr. Porter, lost no time in joining 
them, while Mrs. Monroe and her husband found 
seats where they could watch the fun and at the 
same time take care of the lunch boxes. 

There were great floating buoys to ride the 
waves, and Mr. Porter engaged two of them. 
They were marvelous creations of inflated rub- 
ber painted to represent fish, and Bob was de- 
lighted at bounding far out with Mariquita by 
his side. His uncle soon called him back, how- 
ever, insisting that they must content themselves 
nearer the shore where the others who were less 


THE BEACHES 


173 


daring might share in the sport. After an hour 
or so, Mr. Porter led the way to the bath house 
where there were hot and cold plunges, which 
Joan and Helen enjoyed immensely. Scott 
found he could even take the “high dive” without 
much trouble. 

All at once Bob asked anxiously, 

“Isn’t it most lunch time?” and on consulting 
the clock, there was a hurrying back to the beach. 

“I’m certainly ’most starved,” Joan said, 
happily; “won’t those sandwiches taste good?” 

“There are five each,” said Helen, laughing. 
“I counted them to be sure, and three wienes for 
each one.” 

“Here’s a nice place,” suggested Scott, “near 
this stone wall. If the rest of you will wait. I’ll 
go for the lunch boxes. Mr. Porter, you’re go- 
ing to share it with us, aren’t you?” 

“Well, no,” he replied. “I think I heard 
your father and mother say something about a 
fish dinner,” and he started off in the direction 
of a restaurant, while the others seated them- 
selves comfortably on the sand. 

“It’s lots more fun to eat on the beach than in 
a stuffy room,” remarked Joan as Scott came in 
view laden with the packages. 

“Why is the Sahara desert a good place for a 
picnic?” he called out. “I think the answer 


174 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 

would apply equally well to Ocean Park.” 
Then, as the others ‘‘gave it up,” he continued, 
“Because of the sand-which-is, there.” 

“Oh, Scott, that’s as old as the hills,” com- 
mented his sister, scornfully, passing the pickles. 

“True, nevertheless,” Scott said, soberly. 
“These wienes are dandy.” 

“There’s a peanut man!” suddenly shouted 
Bob, between bites, “and he’s got popcorn, too. 
If you folks will let a fellow have a few nickels. 
I’ll catch him.” 

He was back in a moment with a bag of pop- 
corn apiece and ten cents’ woi-th of peanuts. 

“I think I never enjoyed a picnic lunch so 
much,” said Joan. “Just look at the beach. 
Isn’t it like one big umbrella?” 

While they had been eating, the crowds had 
thickened and the beach literally assumed a 
kaleidoscopic appearance. There were innum- 
erable umbrellas of orange, red, green, yellow and 
blue, as well as of gaudy stripes. Under these, 
both men and women were already snatching de- 
licious naps or half dozing over favorite books. 
There was the indefatigable knitter who confided 
to the smiling idle girl near by that “She was on 
her fourth sweater since May, and had promised 
six more for the church fair in November.” 
Dozens of people in vari-colored bathing suits, 


THE BEACHES 


175 


with sunburned arms and legs, paraded up and 
down, as if proud of their recently acquired coats 
of tan. 

At two o’clock came the band concert, where 
they were wedged in so tight that Bob whispered 
to Joan, 

“You couldn’t tell where one began and the 
other left off.” 

During the intermission, the young people de- 
cided to go to the pier, the Dane children having 
been there many times before. If possible, this 
was more crowded than either the beach or the 
band concert and far more “ ’xciting” Bob 
thought to himself. 

“The only show on earth!” shouted a stentorian 
voice that made them all jump. “You are miss- 
ing your only chance to see a man eating glass, 
if you pass this by.” 

“Get your fortune told!” came through a 
megaphone on the other side, while, “Three 
chances for a nickel,” made Bob drop Joan’s 
hand and disappear, emerging in a few minutes 
triumphant, with a small puppy under his arm. 

“I won him!” he shouted wildly. “On the 
second chance, too. Isn’t he a dandy?” 

“What are you going to do with him?” asked 
his sister, sternly. “You can’t possibly take him 
back to Hiilview.” 


176 JOANNS CALIFORNIA SUMMER 

For a moment the young man’s face fell, but 
Bob was resourceful. He whispered. 

“I’m going to give him to F’lic’ta later on. 
Don’t tell her now.” 

When they reached the merry-go-rounds, the 
children stopped fascinated; the music was en- 
trancing, the animals most gay, 

“I always go round twice any way,” remarked 
Princess Curly-Locks, very firmly. 

“That isn’t enough for me,” put in Mariquita. 
“I’ll choose three times on a kangaroo and twice 
in the chariot.” 

“I’m afraid it will be dark before we get back 
to the folks,” Joan laughed, “but I wouldn’t ob- 
ject, myself, to a ride on one of those galloping 
steeds.” 

Bob had been carefully considering the matter, 
while he hugged the puppy closer, and an- 
nounced he liked a giraffe better than any. 

They were on their third round when Mr. Por^ 
ter made his way through the crowds. 

“Time we were going home,” he exclaimed, as 
the music slowed down and the prancing animals 
gradually came to a stop. “Have you had a 
good time?” 

“Yes, indeed,” came the chorus. “Can’t we 
shoot the chutes?” 

“Bless my soul,” he rejoined, good naturedly, 


THE BEACHES 177 

“but you youngsters won’t get home to-night. 
Now, mind this must be the last.” 

Tired, but thoroughly satisfied with the day 
at Ocean Park, they left for home shortly before 
six o’clock. The crowds were still coming for a 
late afternoon bath, and for the evening concert, 
while old ocean was boisterously dashing against 
the pier. 

This excursion was followed by others, a few 
hours being sufficient for nearby resorts, while a 
day was devoted to Long Beach, the other side of 
Los Angeles. 

They were so charmed with this beautiful 
strand city that Helen declared she would be per- 
fectly happy if she could stay a whole season at 
Hotel Virginia. 

Then Moonstone Beach was interesting, espe- 
cially as they were most fortunate in finding 
many semi-precious stones cast up by the waves. 

“I’ve enough for every one home,” cried Joan 
on her way back. “I shall have them polished 
and mounted for Christmas, every one of them, 
and the best of it is, I picked them up myself.” 

As they approached their cottage, a blue- 
coated messenger boy swiftly passed them and 
they were surprised at seeing him leave his wheel 
at the gate, mount the steps and ring. 

“I hope no one is sick,” Joan said, anxiously. 


178 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 

her thoughts at once on the dear ones so far 
away. “A telegram can mean almost anything.” 

“Don’t worry,” answered Scott, hurrying 
ahead, and as they reached the porch he handed 
the yellow envelope to Mr. Porter. 

There was a silence as the flap was broken and 
a visible sigh of relief when Mr. Porter said, 

“It’s simply a business matter, but it necessi- 
tates my immediate return — we must leave Sat- 
urday at the latest.” 

Bob’s face fell, as he said, 

“I haven’t done nearly all the things I wanted 
to.” 

“Can’t help it,” was his cousin’s reply, “busi- 
ness is business and I promised your mother to 
bring you home with me. This is Thursday, one 
day more, so make the most of it.” 

It was useless to argue or to mourn, so they 
soon settled down to discuss how Bob should 
spend the last precious day. There were all sorts 
of things proposed, from a trip up Mount Lows, 
to fishing for barracuda. The Princess Curly- 
Locks was on the porch, snuggled in the big 
swing chair with Joan. She was very quiet, evi- 
dently thinking hard. After the others had 
made all the suggestions they could think of, 
she vouchsafed, rather timidly, 

“P’raps you’d like to go to the ostrich farm.” 


THE BEACHES 


1T9 


Bob beamed — that was something different. 

“How’d you know I’d like ostriches?” 

“Everybody likes them,” was the demure an- 
swer. “Then there’s the alligators.” 

“All’gaters!” Bob nearly jumped out of his 
seat. “Wouldn’t that be the best ever!” 

“I’ll take you,” she continued happily. “I’ve 
been as many as five times.” 

“I speak to join the party,” put in Joan. 
“I’ve always wanted to visit the Pasadena Os- 
trich Farm, so Princess Curly-Locks, you’ll have 
to take me, too.” 

Felicita nodded her curls in gratified assent, 
much pleased that her suggestion had proved so 
popular. 


CHAPTER XII 


OSTRICHES AND ALLIGATORS 

In spite of the fact that “Princess Curly- 
locks” said she knew the way “perfeck-ly,” Mr. 
Monroe thought best to give Joan explicit di- 
rections how to reach the ostrich farm and drew a 
diagram illustrating the way from there on to 
the alligator ranch. Thus safeguarded, the three 
made their way through the crowded streets of 
Los Angeles, Bob proudly piloting his charges. 

There was a succession of red and yellow cars, 
crisscrossing in every direction. Bob cried sud- 
denly, 

“There ’tis and no mistake — South Pas’dena.” 

It seemed a long ride to the children. The 
other passengers were greatly amused as Bob re- 
peatedly inquired if they were not near the “os- 
trich feather farm”? Even Felicita began to 
think they had been carried too far, when sud- 
denly the conductor called, “Ostrich Farm,” and 
out they clambered. 

The farm is a unique place, with its pleasant 
park of semi-tropical trees and flowers. There 


OSTRICHES AND ALLIGATORS 181 


are seats under the palms and live oaks where one 
can sit and watch the giant birds in the pens, 
and oranges are within easy reach, for, as every 
one who has visited there knows, oranges and 
ostriches are closely allied. 

J oan and the children, however, were too much 
interested to be contented under the trees and 
pressed as closely as they dared to the wire net- 
ting of the ostrich pen. 

“Look at their long necks,” Bob cried, ex- 
citedly. “Just think if one of those fellows had 
sore throat.” 

“And their little heads and big eyes,” said 
J oan then, as one of the awkward birds airily ad- 
vanced. “Why, they only have two toes!” 

“Wait till you see them swallow!” exclaimed 
Princess Curly-locks. “That is the funniest of 
all!” 

The next car brought a dozen more visitors, 
and one of the keepers made his appearance to 
show them over the farm. 

“The first ostriches,” he began, talking rapidly 
so as to give them as much information as possi- 
ble in a short time, “were brought to California 
over twenty years ago, and every one of them 
now in the United States is a descendant of this 
first ship-load of fifty birds. As you may im- 
agine, they are very valuable; in fact, we have 


182 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


one we consider worth as much as a thousand 
dollars.” 

Just then two especially dignified birds came 
running close to the rail, putting their heads 
over so suddenly that even Bob drew quickly 
back, and for the first time Joan noticed the 
sign, 

“Keep away from the birds. They kick.” 

“Those are Mr. and Mrs. George Washing- 
ton,” laughed the guide. “They are among our 
favorites, and here come Mr. and Mrs. Taft. 
Over there in the corner are President and Mrs. 
Roosevelt. As a rule the birds are monogamous, 
but that fellow on the left has two wives, so we 
have named him Brigham Young.” 

Just then they were amazed at seeing George 
Washington proceed to fold his legs and lie down, 
while Brigham Young raised his wings high in 
the air, showing a remarkable expanse of bare 
legs. 

There was a general titter among the by- 
standers, and Joan exclaimed, 

“He looks exactly like a feather duster. The 
feathers aren’t one bit like those on hats.” 

“The birds are plucked every nine months,” 
answered the guide, “but of course the feathers 
have to be prepared and dyed before they are 
ready for the market.” 


OSTRICHES AND ALLIGATORS 183 


“iire you quite sure the ostriches are not hurt 
when they are plucked?” asked a woman with a 
conspicuous Audubon badge on her breast. 

“Absolutely sure,” he asserted firmly, “watch 
the keeper, who is just entering the pen; there, 
he is hooding one now. It takes but a few mo- 
ments to clip the feathers and later the withered 
stump will be removed painlessly. No, you 
needn’t be afraid of wearing our plumes.” 

“Aren’t you going to feed the ostriches?” in- 
quired Felicita, anxiously, who had been treas- 
uring two or three oranges she had found under 
the trees. 

“Right away,” he replied, obligingly, taking 
one from her hand and holding it high in the 
air. 

A dozen or more osti-iches came running from 
different directions with outstretched necks and 
they were all amazed to see tlie orange swallowed 
whole by a handsome bird with full black feath- 
ers. 

“They are as greedy as chickens,” laughed 
Bob, as he watched the round ball slipping down 
the long throat. “Must seem queer to have a 
neck like that.” 

Then the whole party was amused as Mrs. Taft 
spurted ahead and captured the next prize which 
the keeper offered. 


184 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


It was hard to tear themselves away from so 
interesting a sight, but the next pen contained 
young chicks which they did not want to miss, 
and they all agreed there was nothing in the 
funny porcupine quills to even suggest a possi- 
bility of future fluffiness, 

“We haven’t seen any eggs,” again prompted 
Felicita, who felt the responsibility of the expedi- 
tion and was exceedingly anxious that nothing 
should be left out. 

“I hadn’t forgotten them,” responded their 
guide as he led the way into a handsome show 
room and pointed out three or four large white 
objects near the door. 

“What enormous eggs!” exclaimed Joan, ex- 
amining them with interest. “I wonder how 
much they weigh.” 

“Pretty close to three pounds each,” was the 
reply, “and they measure fully a foot in diameter. 
I believe I have shown you everything of interest 
about the farm. You may wish to make some 
purchases here. Come out under the trees again 
if you want to catch another glimpse of our 
birds.” 

“Let’s go outside,” suggested Bob, after a 
cursory glance around the room with its wonder- 
ful display of feathers, so the Princess Curly- 
locks and he wandered back to the park. 


OSTRICHES AND ALLIGATORS 185 


Joan bent over the glass case eagerly. How 
could she buy all she wanted for those at home 
and Helen and Mrs. Monroe? Cousin John had 
been more than generous with her spending al- 
lowance, but had warned her a little teasingly not 
to put all her eggs in one basket. 

Still she could not resist the plumes, and finally 
selected a black neck piece for her mother, a 
white pompon for Mrs. Monroe, one pink plume 
for Helen, and one for Theo. Little Margie was 
to have a real egg as a curiosity. 

It was a big box when it was wrapped and 
J oan felt very happy over her purchases, repeat- 
ing as she went in search of the two children, 
“They’re lovely, every one of them.” 

The route to the alligator ranch proved com- 
plicated, and Joan consulted her diagram with 
some anxiety. She was bewildered by the cars 
continually passing, and had it not been for an 
obliging conductor who set them right in regard 
to their transferring, they might have lost their 
way entirely, but at last Felicita caught sight of 
the familiar sign and called out, 

“There it is, opposite the big park.” 

Eager as they were to see the alligators, they 
were hungry too, and glad to agree with Joan’s 
suggestion that they should sit awhile by the 
lake, in the park and lunch on graham crackers 


186 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SmlMER 


and sweet chocolate. The children dabbled their 
feet in the water, and lingered for some time, 
throwing crumbs to the big white ducks that came 
close to the shore with their quacks of apprecia- 
tion, until the Princess Curly-locks began 
pulling on her shoes and stockings. 

‘Tf we don’t go soon, we won’t have time for 
the alligators and they’re more fun than the os- 
triches were,” she said. 

“Hooray!” cried Bob. He gave a quick lace 
to his shoes and in almost less time than it takes 
to tell it, they had said good-by to the ducks and 
were across the street. 

No sooner had they entered the gate of the alli- 
gator farm than a red-haired man, whom they 
afterward learned was called Tom, came forward 
and asked them if they wanted to see the ranch. 

“ ’Deed we do,” cried Fehcita, eagerly, “every 
bit of it, and you won’t forget the baby ones, will 
you?” 

“Not on your life,” replied the good-natured 
man; “these creatures are special pets of mine, 
and it’s a real pleasure to show them.” 

How anybody could really have any affection 
for alligators Joan felt it hard to understand, as 
she caught sight of the ugly, sprawling bodies, 
lying half in and half out of the water. 

“Why, they’re dead!” exclaimed Bob, disap- 


OSTRICHES AND ALLIGATORS 187 


pointedly. ‘T thought we were going to see live 
alligators. They’re not moving a bit.” 

“Wait a moment, and you’ll change your 
mind,” replied the keeper, with a grin, and lean- 
ing over the railing, he struck one of the creatures 
with a stick. 

Quick as a flash the alligator turned, opening 
and closing his great jaws with a snap. Even 
Bob looked frightened, and Joan shuddered. 

“What horrible things !” 

“Might be serious to fall among them, no mis- 
take about that,” resumed Tom, reaching over 
and taking hold of one of them. “Did you no- 
tice that they only move the upper jaw? 
They’re mighty curious creatures. Then they 
have a kind of a trap door down their throats 
that opens and shuts, and the sharpest teeth you 
ever saw. They get new ones every year. You 
see they only eat about one meal a week.” 

“One meal a week I” repeated Bob in great sur- 
prise. 

Tom resumed, with a grin, 

“That’s a purty good meal, however, and 
oughter last a while. It’s just about feeding 
time and if you folks ’ul jest sort of wait ’round 
and sort of amuse yourselves looking about, I’ll 
go get a little bite for them. In that pen yonder 
you’ll find Louisiana Joe* He’s over two hun- 


188 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


dred years old and used to be the big fighter. 
That’s what caused his tom jaw. Then you 
may like to watch ’em shootin’ the chutes. 
That’s their favorite recreation.” 

“Of all creatures!” exclaimed Joan, as they 
walked about. “I must say I think these are 
most horrible, yet there’s something fascinating 
about them, too, and I believe that man actually 
loves them. I noticed he called one of them 
‘sweetheart.’ ” 

“I think they’re the cur’ousest,” rejoined Bob, 
as an alligator dragged his way up an inclined 
plane without any help from the boy whose duty 
it was to prod those that seemed reluctant. 
Then, as he came down head foremost, “Look, 
now, he did it all himself. I wouldn’t have 
thought he’d have sense enough.” Then, turn- 
ing his attention to Tom, who was coming 
in sight, with some immense hunks of meat 
in a basket, “Do you ’spose they’ll eat all 
that?” 

In reply, the keeper deposited the basket on 
the ground close to one of the pens where about 
a dozen alligators were lying dormant, and tak- 
ing a piece, threw it in their midst. Instantly, 
they turned and, opening their jaws, simultane- 
ously grabbed the meat; then with a dexterous 
twist, rolling over on their backs, succeeded in 


OSTRICHES AND ALLIGATORS 189 


getting a larger or smaller portion, according to 
their strength. 

Joan gasped, and Tom grinned more than 
ever, as he said, 

“Them’s table manners for you. I call it ‘the 
alligator twist’ and a pretty neat trick it is, 
too.” 

“Is that the way they always eat?” inquired 
Joan. 

“The very way, even in their native Florida, 
only, there they live on other creatures, or the 
weak little fellows that can’t fight for them- 
selves.” 

Stooping over, he gave a small piece of meat 
to one thin little ’gator that had not been able to 
get a scrap for himself. 

“He’d have a hard time if I wasn’t round to 
look after him.” 

The Princess Curly-locks, in the meantime, had 
strayed towards another part of the grounds 
where, “the babies are kept,” Tom explained, as 
he followed her with the others. “The children 
all likes to hold ’em.” 

“Hold ’em!” cried Bob, his eyes round as sau- 
cers. “Can you do that?” 

“Yes, indeed,” he replied. “They’re only 
three or four years old.” As they reached the 
inclosure, he entered, and picking up a number 


190 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


of the funny little fellows, handed one to Felicita 
and another to Bob. 

Joan drew back, feeling that the holding of 
even a baby alligator was a doubtful pleasure. 
Bob was delighted, and it was only after great 
persuasion that he finally gave up his plan of 
taking one home for Tony. 

‘‘He couldn’t help but like it,” he answered, as 
Joan argued against it, and was quite depressed, 
until Tom good-naturedly proposed that they 
have their pictures taken sitting on the back of 
an alligator. 

“Are you sure it would be safe?” queried 
Joan, who could not refrain from a shudder. 

“Sartainly,” he replied, “nothing could be 
safer ’n this particular alligator. That’s the 
only proper thing to do. We’ll go right along 
now.” 

Tenderly replacing the babies in the pen, he es- 
corted his party to what Joan called, “the big- 
gest, laziest one of all.” 

They were all a little timid, even Bob, but 
Tom arranged them carefully on the immense 
back, Joan in the middle, while the children sat, 
one on each side. 

“Now, reel still, jes’ a moment while the 
camera man snaps you, and you’ll have a pic- 
ture to be proud of.” 



Tom Arranged Them Carefully on the Immense Back 

Page 190 


I 



OSTRICHES AND ALLIGATORS 191 


“I’m glad it’s over,” breathed Joan, with a 
sigh of relief when she found herself once more 
outside the inclosure. “I don’t know what 
mother and Jack will say when they see us on an 
alligator’s back. Is there anything more to see, 
Tom?” 

“Only those ’xtremely valuable hides drying 
in the sun, and a few little trinkets you might be 
wantin’ to take to the home folks as a kind of 
reminder of what you may look back on as an 
int’restin’ day.” 

“You’re right. Perhaps we can find a purse 
for Aunt Johnny, or a bag for one of the girls,” 
and she followed Tom into the little shop where 
there was a collection of articles for sale. Bob 
consoled himself by selecting an alligator scarf 
pin for Tony in lieu of the live one he had 
coveted. 

“Well, Bob,” said hLs sister, as they settled 
themselves in the car for home, “are you satisfied 
with your last day in Los Angeles?” 

“ ’Deed I am,” he responded with fervor. “I 
’most believe it’s been the best day of all,” and he 
began counting off on his fingers other memorable 
occasions. “Won’t I have lots to tell the folks 
though?” 

“There’s just one thing you missed,” said 
Princess Curly-locks, disappointedly shaking her 


192 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


brown curls; “we didn’t ride on an ostrich.” 

“Never mind,” Bob answered buoyantly. “I 
will when I come back next year.” 

By seven o’clock the next morning, the trunks 
had gone. Bob, however, kept out his bathing 
suit for a last plunge in the ocean. The puppy 
he had won in Ocean Park was duly presented to 
the Princess Curly-locks, in grateful recognition 
of all she had done for him. Mr. Porter and Mr. 
Monroe had enjoyed a last talk about the coun- 
try in general and California in particular. 
Joan had entrusted her cousin with messages to 
J ack, Theo and Margie. The last good-bys were 
said, and by two o’clock, Bob and his cousin were 
on their way to Hillview. 


CHAPTER XIII 
Joan’s new friend 

It seemed lonely enough without Mr. Porter 
and Bob, especially as it was not long before there 
were other changes. Mrs. Dane and her chil- 
dren returned to Hollywood. The month’s va- 
cation arranged for by the fresh air fund was up 
and the little crippled boy went back to Los 
Angeles. 

“It’s fun living now,” he told his friends when 
they came to bid him good-by, and certainly the 
fresh sea air had done wonders in bringing 
strength to the frail frame. 

Scott and Joan would return from long tramps 
these days, hungry and tired, but glowing from 
the exercise. 

One morning when they were off together on 
a hike, they came upon Miss Lottie. At least, 
they found out afterwards, it was Miss Lottie, 
although all they could see at first was a big 
sketching umbrella and a woman’s veil lying on 
the sand a stone’s throw away. 


194 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“What do you suppose she’s doing, way off 
here by herself?” asked Joan, picking up the veil 
and venturing nearer. 

“Taking a nap, probably. That’s the usual 
thing around here.” 

“No, there’s an easel, Scott. I do believe she’s 
making a sketch. I wonder if she would be will- 
ing to show it to us?” Joan advanced with the 
veil as an offering of friendliness. The artist 
looked up and catching a glimpse of the intruder, 
smiled brightly. 

“Thank you,” she said, “the wind has been so 
strong, I wonder it hasn’t blown me away, um- 
brella and all. There are difficulties connected 
with sketching by the ocean,” adding as if in an- 
swer to Joan’s eager look. “Perhaps you would 
like to see what I am doing, although it doesn’t 
amount to very much.” 

“Oh, may we?” Joan exclaimed. She knew 
nothing of art, but as she bent over the sketch of 
sky and surf, she liked it and knew it had the real 
touch. 

“It’s perfect,” she exclaimed, “from the big 
white clouds to the tiny skiff in the distance. 
How did you do it?” 

“It’s great!” burst involuntarily from Scott, 
standing somewhat awkwardly behind them. 

Miss Lottie’s eyes shone at the spontaneous 


JOAN’S NEW FRIEND 


195 


words. They were more complimentary than 
the two realized. 

“I’m glad you like it,” she responded. “If all 
critics were like you I should feel encour- 
aged.” Then, as they made a move to go, “You 
must come and visit me again. You’ll always 
find me here with my easel.” 

J oan was by herself the next tune she spied the 
familiar umbrella. As she made her way in its 
direction eagerly, the little woman recognized 
her and waved a welcome. 

“There, it’s too bad I haven’t another camp 
stool so you can really be comfortable, for I want 
you to stay a long time. You know you are so 
appreciative, it’s inspiring.” 

“May I sit here on the sand?” Joan settled 
herself by her new friend’s side where she could 
watch her blocking in the background. “The 
beach is a place where one can do exactly as one 
pleases.” 

Like her mother, Joan had a sympathetic 
manner which always won confidences, and be- 
fore Miss Lottie realized it, she was pouring out 
the story of her aspirations to this eager brown- 
eyed listener. 

“All I care about is my painting and father 
planned to give me the best education possible. 
He was so proud because the professors at the In- 


196 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


stitute said I had talent. There’s such a differ- 
ence between that and genius.” She paused for 
a moment, looking out over the water, then went 
on more slowly, “After he died, it was different 
and now, I presume I shall have to give it up.” 

“No, don’t,” exclaimed Joan. “Don’t do 
that. Just think with your love of art, to give 
up your painting.” 

Miss Lottie laid down her brush in a discour- 
aged sort of way. 

“It is such hard work to get a start, and you 
see I need more education. I ought to go to 
New York or some center to study.” She 
stopped again. “But there, I’m not going to 
burden you with my affairs.” 

“Please go on, please,” begged Joan. “ You 
don’t know how interested I am.” 

“Well, the amount of it is this. Father left 
so little that it is out of the question for me to 
think of going on. At first I thought I might 
make some money by selling my sketches, but it 
seems almost impossible to bring them before 
people unless one has influence, so last spring I 
gave up and took a course at the business college 
and will begin work as a stenographer the first of 
September.” 

“Isn’t there any way except that?” asked Joan 
with quick sympathy. 


JOAN’S NEW FRIEND 


197 


“Not that I know of.” Miss Lottie’s gray 
eyes filled with tears. “I begged so hard for 
a vacation by the ocean that mother consented, 
and we are in that tiny cottage over yonder, 
and I am enjoying a few blissful weeks of sketch- 
ing before I turn into a full-fledged stenogra- 
pher.” She closed her paint box with a vicious 
snap. 

Joan was silent. There was nothing else she 
could say, no consolation she could offer then; 
so, with a warm, friendly handclasp, she bade 
Miss Lottie good-by and went back to the cot- 
tage. 

She wrote Jack that very afternoon, not that 
she had any id^a he could make a suggestion, but 
because, when in perplexity she was accustomed 
to turn to him. 

“Some way you always understand even if you 
laugh and say, ‘Joan has found another lame 
dog.’ I know you will feel exactly the way I 
do. You see, she has talent, and all she needs is 
more instruction. It does seem such a pity to 
give it all up. Do suggest a way out.” 

As she started out to mail her letter, Scott 
called from a corner of the porch, 

“Hello, there! Can’t I go, too?” 

She nodded her head soberly, and he started 
after her, divining something was wrong. 


198 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“Look here, Joan, what’s up? Can’t you pre- 
tend I’m Jack and tell me all about it?” 

After she had once begun, it seemed natm’al 
enough to confide in Scott, especially as he had 
been with her when Miss Lottie was discovered. 

“That is tough, isn’t it?” he said thoughtfully. 
“She’s the real thing and no mistake. Wonder 
if we can’t think up some way to help her out, 
Joan. There are the folks on the porch now. 
Suppose we tell them about it. In union there’s 
strength, you know!” 

Joan gave him a grateful look and quickened 
her steps. Now that he had made the sugges- 
tion, she was eager to take the family into her 
confidence. 

“Can’t we do something to help her?” she asked 
eagerly, and Mrs. Mom’oe smiled. 

“I shouldn’t wonder if we could before the 
summer is over.” 

“Another of Joan’s protegees,” teased Mr. 
Monroe. “Hang Miss Lottie’s portrait in the 
Hall of Fame with Lidy and Happy Day.” 

“Never you mind, Joan. Just you bring her 
right up here any time,” Helen offered, impetu- 
ously. “We’ll love any one you love.” 

Not long after this, Joan saw Miss Lottie 
passing their cottage and urged her to stop. 

“Just a moment. You must,” she pleaded. 


JOAN’S NEW FRIEND 


199 


“]Mrs. Monroe and Helen have set their hearts on 
knowing you.” 

So the new friendship was started and all the 
family shared Joan’s enthusiasm over the 
sketches. Even Mr. Monroe remarked more 
than once, 

‘'She shows talent certainly, and ought to have 
a chance.” 

It was Miss Lottie who suggested the trip to 
Catalina one day when Joan and Helen were sit- 
ting near her on the sand, and Scott a little dis- 
tance away was idly watching the bathers. 

“That’s one place you must go,” she urged. 
“The bay of Avalon is lovelier than you can im- 
agine. It is a paradise for artists. We spent 
a whole summer there the year before father died. 
It’s like Italy, they say, with its wonderful blue 
sky — the Capri of California — in an ocean of 
perpetual summer.” 

“Of course, we’U go there,” the girls promised. 
“You ought to guide us there because you know 
all about it.” 

“How about being seasick?” suggested Scott, 
overhearing the conversation and giving a mis- 
chievous glance at his sister. 

“I’m not afraid,” she retorted, quickly. “Are 
you, Joan?” 

“No,” Joan protested, “and if I should be, I 


200 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


wouldn’t mind. It would be worth it to see such 
a beautiful place.” 

“That’s the true spirit,” applauded Miss Lot- 
tie gayly, “and I shall be more than pleased to 
act as chaperone or guide or whatever you like 
to call me. You’ll love it all from the glass bot- 
tomed boats to the flower covered hills.” 

The day chosen was as near perfect as could 
be, the swell on the water being scarcely percep- 
tible. After the early fog had lifted Catalina 
Island could be plainly seen, a purple object in 
the distance. 

The two-hour trip across the channel was full 
of interest. From time to time, they were 
startled by glimpses of flying fish or an occa- 
sional spouting whale, and more than once Joan 
cried, 

“Isn’t it too bad Bob isn’t here? He would 
have been crazy over it all.” 

Fairly out in the bay, little islands came into 
view. Joan cried out in sheer delight at the 
crystal-like quality of the water. 

“Even more transparent than Tahoe,” she 
said. “Remember where we walked that day, 
Scott?” 

There was a dreamy look in Miss Lottie’s eyes 
as the magic island drew nearer and she softly 
quoted. 


JOAN’S NEW FRIEND 


201 


“Where fall nor hail nor rain nor any snow, 

Nor any wind blows hardly, but it lies, 

Deep meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns. 

And bowery billows crowned with summer 
seas.” 

The steamer docked and dozens of small boys 
promptly presented themselves, eager to dive for 
coins. At Miss Lottie’s suggestion, Scott had 
provided himself with change which he divided 
with the others, and they took turns throwing 
pennies, while the youngsters plunged into the 
water. 

“The very first thing to do,” said ^liss Lottie, 
after they had watched the sport for some time, 
“is to see the submarine gardens. If we hurry 
we can catch this boat, I think.” She read the 
names, amusedly. ''The Philadelphia^ pretty 
ambitious name for such a little craft.” 

The seats were ranged along the sides, and the 
center was of plate glass. As the motor 
chugged, and they pushed out into the bay, the 
bottom of the bay could be distinctly seen. 

“Scott, just look at that wonderful seaweed!” 
exclaimed Joan. “It’s actually growing like 
trees and flowers! I never dreamed it was like 
this under the water, it’s a real garden.” 

“And the jelly fish and star fish,” Helen was 
leaning far over the glass as she spoke. “I’ve 


202 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


looked so hard I feel almost like one myself.” 

“No more unexplored wonders of the deep!” 
shouted Scott. “This beats Jules Verne and his 
‘Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.’ ” 

Miss Lottie pointed out a chambered nautilus, 
repeating half under her breath, 

“This is a ship of pearl.” 

There were numerous other steamers and row 
boats, filled with tourists, beside the fisher craft, 
for Avalon is famous for its tuna, yellow tail, 
bass and other delicious fish. Here, too, was 
a host of eager boys clamoring for chances to dive 
for the opalescent abalone shells, and when The 
Philadelphia landed them at the wharf, J oan and 
Helen were both happy in the possession of par- 
ticularly choice specimens. 

“How beautiful they are!” said Helen, examin- 
ing hers closely and admiring the opalescent tints* 
“Yes,” mused Joan, “the abalone fish have 
something even better than ‘marble halls’ to live 
in, and as usual the Vandals have to come and 
take their homes away. I know now about the 
beautiful jewelry your mother sent Christmas. 
It was all inlaid with pieces of the shell.” 

“I am ready for one of those fish dinners here 
that people talk so much about,” interrupted 
Scott, and Miss Lottie assenting, he led the way 
past countless curio stores. In one place some 


JOAN’S NEW FRIEND 


203 


men were weighing an enormous tuna, while 
small boys cried out everything possible for sale 
from fish eyes to portieres of shell. They were 
immensely interested, too, in the tents and 
quaint cottages, Joan comparing them to Noah’s 
Ark houses while Miss Lottie gayly cried, 

“Catalina’s the playground of all California.” 
After the dinner, which more than fulfilled 
even Scott’s expectations. Miss Lottie proposed 
they should climb the hills. 

“There isn’t time to do much but I would like 
to show you a few of my favorite haunts,” she 
told them, and they turned from the beaten tour- 
ist ways to a less frequented path, along which 
there was a perfect riot of wild flowers. They 
went into raptures over the Indian Paint Brush, 
California holly and countless other plants that 
were new to them, Miss Lottie re-iterating, 

“It’s nothing to what it is in the spring time. 
The hills are covered with flowers. You see, it’s 
always lovely in Catalina, Indian Summer from 
January to January.” 

They were not half ready to go when the boat 
whistle sounded and there was a hurry and 
scurry to reach the steamer in time. 

Joan and Miss Lottie stood long at the stern 
watching the rocky island slowly fading into 
purple distance. 


204 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“Such a glorious day!” said Joan, softl3^ 
“Catalina would always be interesting, but we 
never could have seen it as we have without you 
to guide us.” 

“I’m so glad,” answered Miss Lottie. “It’s 
one of my favorite haunts, and I love to have my 
friends appreciate its real beauty. Then you 
don’t know what a pleasure it is to do anything 
for you, who have done so much for me.” 

“We haven’t done anything. I only wish we 
could.” Joan’s voice was low and sympathetic. 

“Indeed you have,” was the earnest answer. 
“It’s been everything to me just to have known 
you at this time. The world seems to have 
changed. I begin to think the outlook isn’t so 
dreary after all. I’ve made up my mind to this 
— that I’m not going to give up my art. I’ll 
have Sundays and odd times to paint and perhaps 
I can save enough to go East and study before 
I’m quite an antique. Who knows ? Maybe I’ll 
be famous at sixty like Corot.” 

“You mustn’t even think that way,” Joan told 
her, lovingly. “Just hope and hope until it must 
come true.” 

“You’re a regular rainbow of promise, my 
dear,” Miss Lottie answered, gently. “Let’s 
hope that the hopes come true.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


HUNTING A BUNGALOW 

“It is about time to expect our household 
goods,” remarked Jlr. Monroe one evening. 
“They were shipped from Xew York nearly six 
weeks ago, so it’s none too soon to turn our at- 
tention to house hunting.” 

“House hunting,” Helen repeated. “What a 
perfectly fascinating thing to do in California. 
Only it will be hard to leave the beach, father, 
dear.” 

“IVe only engaged our eottage until August 
first. Your mother and I begin to think we’d 
like to settle down — it is nearly a year since we 
left Xew York, girlie.” 

“But, Dad,” interrupted Scott. “Let’s have 
something a little more definite. Is this particu- 
lar home to be large or small, a cottage or a cas- 
tle, and where shall our search begin, in Los 
Angeles or one of the suburbs?” 

“We looked about a good deal before you 
came,” his father replied, “especially in the city 
and Pasadena. While we found many attrac- 


206 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


tive places we came to no decision, and since our 
acquaintance with the Danes, I am inclined to 
favor Hollywood, which, they tell us, is very 
desirable. Then, too, it is near enough to the 
beach for us to run out frequently, Helen 
wants, I know, a rose embowered bungalow.” 

“With a lemon orchard and fig trees and a 
hedge of lantana,” Helen paused to take breath 
before she finished, “besides a pergola and a 
terrace.” 

“Whatever else this wonderful bungalow pos- 
sesses, it surely must have a garage,” Scott 
added. “Don’t you agree, dad?” 

Mr. Monroe assented, laughingly, as they all 
said good-night. Helen called last of all, 

“Mind, don’t any one be late to-morrow. We 
want plenty of time for our house hunting.” 

There was much excitement on the way to 
Hollywood the next morning, and enthusiastic 
exclamations over everything: the geraniums 
climbing to the roofs, the solid masses of bou- 
gainvilleas, the magnolias with their heavy white 
blossoms, and delicious fragrance. They were 
constantly calling each other’s attention, first to 
one side of the car and then to the other until the 
last station was reached. 

“Houses, yes, indeed,” the agent responded, as 
they entered the office and ranged themselves be- 


HUNTING A BUNGALOW 207 


fore the desk, Mr. Monroe acting as spokesman. 
He added smilingly as he looked them over, 
“Guess you’re from the East?” 

As Mr. Monroe assented, he went on, 

“Pretty enthusiastic over California? Most 
all strangers are. It’s a mighty fine part of the 
country and no mistake.” He ran down a type- 
written list with his finger, “Here’s an un- 
usually attractive house, on a side hill, three 
stories on one side and only one on the other. It 
was built by a man who knew how to make the 
most of a situation. The living room is finished in 
some kind of wood from Hawaii that looks like 
satin. Then there’s a wonderful yiew from the 
terrace. It’s a bargain.” 

“Has it a garage?” asked Scott. 

“Yes, indeed, in a most convenient place, un- 
der the house; couldn’t be better.” 

Scott glanced at his father, who reflectively 
shook his head. 

“No, my boy, no side hills for me. My climb- 
ing days are over.” 

“But, father, it has a garage.” 

“Can’t ride all the time,” was the reply; “be- 
sides, I’m not as sure of that automobile as you 
appear to be.” 

Scott laughed, and Mrs. Monroe settled the 
matter. 


208 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 

“It’s quite too large for our purpose. Have 
you no bungalow?” 

“Plenty of them. In fact whole streets of 
nothing else. Would you care to have me drive 
you to some of them?” 

“Why couldn’t Scott and Joan and I wander 
around a little by ourselves,” suggested Helen. 
“Just while you and father go in the car? It 
would be no end of fun.” 

The agent selected three keys from a bunch 
and handed them to Scott with a few directions. 
“You’ll have no difficulty in finding your way 
around, and any one will be glad to direct you 
if you need any help. I will bring your mother 
and father back to the office at one o’clock.” 

Plollywood is such an attractive suburb set 
with the boulevard winding like a ribbon at the 
base of steep, picturesque mountains, the avenues 
lined with palms and pepper trees, and the air 
sweet with the scent of lemon orchards. Scott 
counted three varieties of palms, and they all 
agreed they liked the date palms best, although 
Helen declared she was longing for the ones that 
looked like big fans when the branches waved in 
the wind. 

“Just like big palm leaf fans,” she said. 

Passing the vine covered library, they looked 
up one avenue shaded by pepper trees which met 


HUNTING A BUNGALOW 209 


overhead like the elms of a New England town. 
J oan was delighted with a glimpse of last year’s 
berries, showing pink among the flow^ers, and the 
tiny green berries, not yet fully formed. So, 
wandering they came upon a beautiful house on 
the Moorish style, with a wonderful garden of 
choice flowers. 

“This must be the home of the famous painter,” 
remarked Scott. ‘T’ve forgotten his last 
name.” 

“Paul de Longpre,” Joan prompted. “They 
say he chose Hollywood because he could raise 
greater varieties of blossoms here than anywhere 
else.” The thought of the painter reminded 
her of their artist friend, and she added 
earnestly, “How I wish Miss Lottie was with 
us. She said she had never been to Holly- 
wood.” 

“I’ve been thinking,” Helen spoke up sud- 
denly, “that I would ask mother to invite her to 
spend a week with us after we get settled in our 
bungalow.” 

Joan’s brown eyes sparkled. 

“She could do some sketching here. Wouldn’t 
a flower garden be lovely to her? I mean one 
like this. It’s like an enchanted garden.” 

Later they found the little Catholic church, 
and the mission bell marking its place on the 


210 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


King’s Highway. Below the bell was a tablet 
and Joan read it, thoughtfully. 

“Look, Scott,” she said, “this was where 
Father Junipero Serra blessed the grove by his 
presence and said the mass of the ‘Holy wood,’ 
that’s Hollywood, of course. Isn’t that interest- 
ing?” 

They passed all kinds of houses, most of them 
very different from the ones to which they had 
been accustomed in the East. 

“I feel exactly as if I were in a book,” said 
Joan as she caught sight of a little court; “if only 
the white rabbit were here, I could imagine my- 
self Alice in Wonderland; and, Helen, here’s a 
pergola,” joyously, “with passion vine climbing 
all over it. Who would ever have thought of 
passion flowers outside of a conservatory!” 

She darted down the path followed by the 
others. 

“These are just story-book houses,” said 
Helen, with a sigh of sheer contentment. 

In front of the bungalow marked “for rent” 
was a fountain whose spray fell over rocks into a 
little pool where gold and silver flsh swam mer- 
rily. Both girls paused, delighted. 

“Scott, this is perfect,” Joan said; “please un- 
lock the door. I can scarcely wait to see the in- 
side.” 


HUNTING A BUNGALOW 211 


They let themselves in and looked about. It 
was such a ‘‘comfy” place, plenty large enough 
for a newly married couple without much furni- 
ture. 

“But where would the family portraits go,” 
mourned Helen, “and there isn’t a single space 
big enough for my piano. It won’t do, I know,” 
and she sighed as she thought of the passion 
vine. 

They came next to a large apartment house, 
with six or eight bungalows clustered around it. 

“Did you ever see anything like these?” asked 
Joan, curiously. “They are actually named for 
the different kinds of flowers; here’s one with 
‘Pansy’ over the door, and I certainly never saw 
such big pansies as those by the front porch.” 

“That one across the street is ‘Daisy,’ and over 
in the comer is ‘Poinsettia,’ ” called Scott. 

Joan chose “Violet Cottage” and a dear little 
one that bore the name of “Ivy,” and was com- 
pletely smothered in vines. At a nod from his 
sister, Scott disappeared into the office, return- 
ing with a smiling matron who informed them 
that all the bungalows were occupied, but added, 
“I shall be glad to take your name and notify you 
as soon as any one is vacated.” 

“How many rooms have they?” asked Helen, 
suddenly remembering that something besides 


212 JOAJTS CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


flowers was to be considered, and her face fell 
at the answer, 

‘Tour and a sleeping porch. Would you care 
to see the inside of one of them?’’ 

“No, thank you, they are too small. We must 
have at least five.” 

They turned away regretfully and walked in 
silence a full block, until Joan caught Helen’s 
arm eagerly. 

“Look, there’s one on the mission order with a 
real belfry. It wouldn’t take much imagination 
to fancy we could hear the ‘sweet-tongued bells.’ ” 

If only Scott hadn’t reminded them that 
mother had said positively she wouldn’t consider 
two stories, they would have been sure their 
search was ended. 

“Well,” sighed Helen in utter weariness. “I 
don’t see but what house hunting is as difficult 
here as anywhere else. Do you suppose we will 
ever succeed?” 

“The only thing is to keep trying,” rejoined 
her brother; “personally, I’m for that fine 
Colonial across the street.” 

“It’s entirely too large, and it doesn’t belong 
in California any more than a Queen Anne style 
or a Massachusetts farm-house,” answered 
Helen, a little peevishly, for she was tired and 
nervous. “Are we very far from the Outpost? 


HUNTING A BUNGALOW 213 


I heard some one mention there was a summer 
house there. It would seem good to rest and 
stop thinking about houses for a while.” 

“It’s in sight now, sis,” replied Scott, com- 
fortingly, and, sure enough, a few moments’ walk 
brought them to the historic site. 

“So this is where the treaty of peace with 
Mexico was signed,” Joan said, as they wandered 
through the grounds and looked with interest at 
the quaint adobe house, with its roof thatched 
with palm leaves, “and Scott, there’s the old syca- 
more where seven Indians were hanged* 
Wouldn’t Jack like it?” 

They turned their steps in the direction of the 
summer house, a rustic arbor, almost completely 
covered with a wonderful morning glory vine, 
when a passing automobile stopped and some one 
waved to them. 

“It’s mother and father,” Helen exclaimed, 
rushing to the street, and, in her excitement, 
completely forgetting how tired she was. “Have 
you found a house, yet?” 

“No, not yet,” Mrs. Monroe responded, “al- 
though we’ve seen bungalows by the dozens, all 
sorts and kinds. In one we counted five doors 
leading to the bathroom, and Helen, you would 
have loved the sun parlors, and the dear Dutch 
doors. But to be serious, the one that pleased 


214 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


us most was Spanish in style, with a patio, filled 
with tropical trees. There was actually a banana 
and a cocoanut, besides a fig tree and a locust. I 
would have felt like deciding at once, only the 
rooms seemed small and I wanted to find out what 
you had seen.” 

“Oh, all sorts of lovely places,” replied Helen, 
fairly jumbling her words together, “only some 
were too large and some were too small. We 
must have walked miles and we’re all tired out.” 

“There is one other house,” put in the real es- 
tate agent, “which I would like to show you. 
The owner only yesterday placed it in our hands. 
He built it himself and regretted so much leav- 
ing it, but he was obliged to return to Ohio, and 
so he decided to sell. It’s only a little way from 
here,” he urged, as Mr. Monroe consulted his 
watch, “and I am quite sure you would feel re- 
paid for the time you would spend looking at 
it.” 

In response, Helen clambered in on the back 
seat, between her father and mother, while Scott 
and Joan crowded in on the front. In less than 
five minutes, the car stopped in front of a pretty 
white bungalow, and Helen said as they made 
their way up the path, 

“It’s the best of all, I do believe. See the 
brass knocker on the door, and a pergola and a 


HUNTING A BUNGALOW 215 


summer house covered with roses besides.” She 
squeezed Joan’s hand delightedly. “A real ar- 
royo, too. Isn’t that what you call an artistic 
dry ditch at the foot of a hill?” 

Mrs. Monroe read aloud the name over the 
door. 

“ ‘Heart’s Ease,’ ” she commented. “Henry, 
this is surely ideal.” 

It was as attractive inside as out ; a sun parlor 
opening, by French windows, upon a terrace; a 
fireplace with built in book-cases in the living- 
room. “Big enough for our mahogany side- 
board,” whispered Helen to her mother; three 
sunny bedrooms, besides a perfectly equipped 
kitchen. 

“Yes, there is adequate provision for heating,” 
the agent assured Mr. Monroe; “a good gas fur- 
nace in the basement which can be regulated from 
the living room.” 

“That’s easier than Aladdin’s wonderful 
lamp,” commented Scott. “I always thought it 
would take considerable elbow grease when it 
came to the rubbing.” 

“Mother!” cried Helen, looking from one of 
the bedroom windows, “we haven’t been out in 
the garden and it has everything beautiful.” 

“Here’s one, two, three orange trees,” called 
Joan from below, “enough to supply blossoms 


216 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


for all of our weddings, to say nothing of pick- 
ing one’s own juicy orange for breakfast.” 

‘And lemons, too,” said Mrs. Monroe. 
“What is this tree?” She pointed to one similar 
to the orange, but smaller. 

“That is grapefruit,” replied the agent. 
“Perhaps you didn’t know the fruit was so 
named because it sometimes grows in clusters re- 
sembling a bunch of grapes.” 

On every side new discoveries Avere made; a 
great bed of double petunias, snapdragons, nas- 
turtiums, hydrangeas, in fact every kind of fa- 
miliar flower was here magnified into what Joan 
called, 

“Such glorified editions of themselves,” that 
it was hard to recognize even old friends. 

“\Vhat is the matter with this tree?” inquired 
Scott, who had been curiously inspecting a syca- 
more with its tnmk filled with cement. 

“That’s the work of a tree surgeon,” was the 
agent’s answer. “The heart was fast rotting 
away and the tree would have died had it not been 
for this operation. Now it will live indefinitely.” 

“I certainly approve of preseiwmg trees,” said 
Mr. Monroe, “our country has been far too prodi- 
gal of its forests. Conservation of resources is 
a great thing. My dear, have you quite decided 
or shall we take another day for our search?” 


HUNTING A BUNGALOW 217 


Mrs. Monroe sighed, contentedly. 

“It seems to me I should be satisfied to live 
here forever, Henry.” 

“Here, too,” said Helen. “What do you say, 
Joan?” 

“I can’t imagine anything more perfect. I 
shall love to think of you in December, gathering 
your own grape-fruit, and sitting on this ter- 
race.” 

“Yes, dad, do take it,” urged Scott. “It’s 
complete from the arroyo to the garage.” 

“Then, the matter is settled,” Mr. Monroe 
said to the agent. “The next question is, how 
soon can we have possession? We expect our 
furniture by the first of August.” 

“That will give us the necessary time for the 
proposed changes. You would like the south 
bedroom in gray?” He turned to Mrs. Mon- 
roe. 

“I think so,” she said, “and cream for the 
smaller room, with a border of pink roses. That 
is yours, Helen. I think that is all at present, 
except the sleeping porch for Scott.” 

The next week was a busy one, especially for 
Mrs. Monroe and the girls. There were long 
consultations over the draperies and curtains. 
Miss Lottie’s advice had to be asked about har- 
monious color combinations, and there were trips 


218 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


to Los Angeles almost every day. Sometimes 
they would return completely discouraged, again 
with radiant faces when they had found just the 
“right” thing. 

“We must surely have filet curtains for the 
French windows and simple scrim ones for the 
dining rqom,” Mrs. Monroe declared, as she puck- 
ered her brows over her shopping list one evening. 

“Yes, and father promised I should have a new 
set of willow furniture in my room, and I do want 
ecru cretonne with pink roses for draperies and 
cushions,” Helen pleaded. “It will be the very 
thing with the white wood-work.” 

Then there were rugs to be bought, and here 
Mr. Monroe and Scott were called into consulta- 
tion, the result being that a choice oriental was 
chosen for the living room, and a soft gray and 
blue Chinese rug was found to finish out the blue- 
bird scheme Joan had suggested for the guest 
room. 

In spite of the fact that they were so occupied 
in plans for their new home, they could not but 
grieve over leaving the beach. The sunset never 
seemed so beautiful as when Scott and Joan 
watched it, the last time, and she echoed the feeb 
ing of all when she said wistfully, 

“How lonesome it will be without the splash of 
the waves. It seems like a living voice.” 


CHAPTER XV 


“heakt’s ease” 

The first of August came, without bringing 
news of the expected freight, much to their dis- 
appointment. 

“Since our cottage here is already rented, I 
don’t see but what we’ll have to buy a tent and 
camp out,” Scott said at the family council which 
had been called to consider what was the best 
thing to do in the emergency. 

“It’s just horrid,” Helen declared, impetu- 
ously. “Things never do go right.” 

But Mr. Monroe decided they had better go to 
the hotel and wait there for the arrival of the fur- 
niture. So it was settled, and contrary to expec- 
tations they thoroughly enjoyed the few days at 
the hotel. There were dances every evening, 
and Joan heard of a ukulele teacher who guar- 
anteed to teach one to play in ten lessons. Nev- 
ertheless there was rejoicing when Scott brought 
news the freight car had arrived at last. 

The following days were busy ones, for there 


220 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


were crates and trunks to be unpacked, pictures 
to be hung, furniture arranged, besides the hun- 
dred and one details that are necessary at such 
times. 

“There,” said Mrs. Monroe one morning, in a 
tone of satisfaction, from the top of the steplad- 
der, where she stood carefully, adjusting the filet 
curtains, “now they hang perfectly.” 

“Mother, dear,” called Helen from a seat on 
the floor before the bookcases, “these shelves are 
exactly the right height for father’s set of Dick- 
ens. Won’t he be pleased? I think it’s wonder- 
ful how everything has turned out. We were so 
disappointed because the furniture did not come 
by the first, but, if it had, we wouldn’t have been 
at the hotel, and never would have met so many 
nice people, to say nothing of the dances. 
Things don’t often turn out so well.” 

“I am not so sure about that,” replied her 
mother, who was giving a last critical glance at 
the curtains before turning her attention to the 
mantel. “In my experience things usually work 
out for the best.” 

The grandfather’s clock from the corner struck 
eleven and Helen exclaimed, 

“What do you suppose has become of Joan? 
She hasn’t come from the market yet, and she 
promised to arrange the little table in the sun 


‘‘HEART’S EASE” 221 

parlor for afternoon tea. Hadn’t I better call 
Tako to take away the ladder?” 

In response to the bell, Takonori Yoshimuri 
appeared with a bland smile on his oriental 
face. 

“I remove the ladder at oncely, is there else I 
can do for honorable mistress?” 

“Nothing at present,” replied Mrs. Monroe, 
and Tako obsequiously bowed himself out, leaving 
Helen brimful of merriment. 

“I can’t help it, mother dear. He’s just like a 
little Jap doll.” 

“I must say I am completely converted to Jap- 
anese help,” Mrs. Monroe declared. “Tako is a 
treasure.” 

“Here comes Joan this minute!” Helen said, 
glancing out through the branches of the big pep- 
per tree that almost completely shaded the win- 
dow, “with her basket full of good things.” 

Tako had been watching, too, and hastened out 
to relieve her of the burden, while Joan hurried 
into the house, 

“I’m sorry to be late, but it seemed as if I 
couldn’t tear myself away. You’ve no idea of 
the quantities of fruit and vegetables, peas and 
beans, corn and tomatoes, besides all the funny 
squashes, and the fruits are luscious. Come into 
the kitchen and see for yourselves.” 


222f JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


They found Tako engaged in carefully un- 
packing the basket. 

“Strawberries,” exulted Helen, as she caught 
sight of three boxes. 

“They are always in market,” replied Joan, 
“and they only cost ten cents for three boxes. I 
could hardly believe it, but I want you to taste the 
Logan berries. I call them bewitched raspber- 
ries. We can thank Mr. Burbank for them, and 
the figs are delicious. I couldn’t resist eating one 
on the way home. Going to market in Califor- 
nia is a perfect lark. You feel like Aladdin in 
the garden of enchanted fruit.” 

“This peach is perfect,” agreed Mrs. Monroe, 
while Helen cried, 

“I’ve coimted four different kinds of plums 
and, Joan Claji:on, I never saw such immense 
bunches of grapes.” 

“That’s nothing, the bunches are all as large 
and larger. The grapes are just coming in. In 
another week or two there will be three or four 
different varieties, but now that you’ve satisfied 
yourself that I didn’t exaggerate about the mar- 
ket, I want to see what you all have been doing.” 

She stopped at the threshold of the living room. 
How pretty it was; in spite of the fact that the 
bungalow was small, nothing seemed to be 
crowded or out of place. Over the mantel hung 


‘HEART’S EASE’ 


228 


the picture of Mrs. Monroe when she was seven- 
teen. The lighting was very good, bringing out 
even the embroidery on the exquisite India mus- 
lin. Both the girls loved it. There was some- 
thing quaint and wonderfully charming in the 
whole treatment. Helen never tired of admiring 
the slim, tender-eyed girl with morning glories 
in her hand, and behind her a river view from an 
embrasured window. 

On the opposite w’all was a small oil painting 
of Helen as a little girl, very demure, but with 
the promise of mischief even then in her eyes. 

From the pictures, Joan’s eyes wandered to 
the rug and the old fashioned solid mahogany 
furniture. 

“Every time I look around it seems cozier,” 
she said. “We must have our tea this very after- 
noon.” 

She arranged the drawn work doily daintily 
and unpacked the Japanese cups and saucers. 
Just as she added the finishing touch, a single 
rose in a slender vase, Tako announced luncheon. 
The three seated themselves at the table, and, as 
he served them noiselessly, Mrs. Monroe said with 
a little sigh of relief, 

“This is truly ‘Heart’s Ease.’ ” 

As the days went on, life in the little bungalow 
was more and more of a delight. First, in the 


224 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


mornings came the pleasant task of picking flow- 
ers, and it was indeed a rare occasion when every 
vase in the house was not filled with roses or blos- 
soms equally beautiful. Once Helen brought in 
a Magnolia bud, placing it carefully in a bowl of 
water and was amazed, a few hours later, to find 
it opened into an enormous flower. Then it was 
such fun to look for oranges under the trees, and 
while it was not “the season” they found them all 
the sweeter for having himg so long. 

“I’m finding out something new every day,” 
exclaimed Joan as she came in with an apron 
full of lemons. “Who ever heard of a tree hav- 
ing flowers and fruit at the same time? Look at 
this,” and she held out a fragrant blossom. 
“Tako says the juiciest lemons grow nearest the 
ground, and that’s the reason the branches are 
pruned down. How much I shall miss it all 
when I am back in Hill view, but there will be the 
apple trees, and nothing, after all quite takes 
their place. I suppose in California, Margie 
would have her playhouse under a pepper tree.” 

“What do you think?” put in Helen. “I’m 
sure I heard a really tiTily mocking bird last 
night, only I was so sleepy I couldn’t wake up.” 

“A mocking bird,” repeated Joan. “Do you 
suppose it will sing again?” 

Mrs. Monroe laughed. 


HEART’S EASE’ 


225 


‘T am told they often sing all night when the 
moon is full. Some people think it’s altogether 
too much of a good thing.” 

Miss Lottie was coming to visit them that day, 
and when she arrived, declared, while she had 
lived most of her life in California, she had never 
seen a bungalow quite so charming. 

“What dear little knockers you have on the 
bedroom doors!” she said, “and Helen’s pretty 
wicker set, and Joan’s blue bird scheme!” As 
she stopped to catch her breath. Miss Lottie 
nodded brightly. “Yes, yes, yes, I love it all, 
and with your permission, I will paint a flight of 
blue birds on that further wall, as a symbol of 
happiness for you all.” 

“The very thing,” cried both girls together, 
“that will give the finishing touch to the whole 
color scheme.” 

With Miss Lottie’s visit, came new interests. 
There were favorite places to show her, and many 
suggestions to offer in regard to what they con- 
sidered choice subjects to paint. They were 
somewhat sm’prised when she said mysteriously: 

“You know an artist is a privileged person, and 
you must excuse me if I choose something differ- 
ent from any you have mentioned.” 

“I think I know,” said Joan, “the little vine 
covered church.” 


226 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


‘‘I’m sure there’s enough in Paul de Longpre’s 
lovely garden to furnish material for at least ten 
years,” Helen declared. 

Scott looked over at them smilingly, 

“A mountain peak for mine, please.” 

“You’re wrong, every one of you,” was the 
artist’s reply. “You’d never guess in the world. 
It’s my own special discovery.” 

“Do teU us,” teased Helen, on tiptoe with cu- 
riosity. 

“I’ll do more than that. I’ll take you there 
this very minute and see if you don’t agree with 
me. 

A walk around the comer brought them to a 
small one story house over which climbed a sweet 
scented honey suckle. It was very different from 
the bungalows to which they had now become ac- 
customed, and Joan said in a rather disappointed 
tone, 

“It’s like the little houses at home.” 

“Oh, it’s too old fashioned. Miss Lottie,” Helen 
echoed. 

“Don’t make up your minds too quickly,” was 
the laughing rejoinder, as she led the way by a 
tiny path around the shed to the old fashioned 
garden. Then, triumphantly, “Did you ever see 
anything like this? Our grandmothers might 
have had such a garden. Here’s mignonette.” 


‘HEART’S EASE’ 


227 


She knelt beside the flower bed. ‘"Doesn’t it 
smell sweet? And larkspur, beside four o’clocks 
and sweet alyssum. Then it isn’t often in Cali- 
fornia one comes across a genuine grape arbor, 
not in the least bit like a pergola, and you scarcely 
noticed the trumpet vine on the shed.” 

Joan had discovered some lemon verbena, and 
was sniffing it delightedly, and Helen exulted 
over a big sunflower. 

“What I can’t understand is how you ever 
found such a lovely spot. I never would have 
dreamed there was anything like this behind the 
house.” 

“Well,” continued Miss Lottie, ‘T saw the 
trumpet blossoms, and when a tall holly by the 
side of the path, nodded an invitation, I couldn’t 
resist, but walked right up to the door and rang 
the bell.” 

“And then?” pursued Joan. 

“A dear old lady answered the summons and 
was delighted when I asked her if I might see her 
garden. She told me she was from New Eng- 
land and when she came here years ago, she 
planted the same kind of flowers that were in her 
mother’s garden. In fact she brought many of 
the seeds with her, but, she added, the flowers are 
bigger and liner tlian they are back east. Well, 
to make my story short, I asked her if I might 


228 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


paint her garden, and she was pleased and told 
me to come whenever I liked, so I’m going to 
begin to-morrow.” 

After that the little artist spent every morning 
among the old fashioned flowers, always coming 
back happy with some exquisite bit of color, and 
while she was busy with her sketching, Joan be- 
gan her ukulele lessons, determined to learn as 
soon as possible so as to be able to play duets with 
Helen. 

“It’s so pretty with the mandolin, and isn’t at 
all hard,” she told them after her first lesson. 
“It’s all in the way you skip your fingers over the 

frets. Professor M says the word ukulele 

means ‘bouncing fleas,’ which expresses it ex- 
actly.” 

“Altogether,” Scott complained, “the girls 
were too busy for anything,” and more than once 
he wished they were back on the beach. “I’ve 
scarcely had a moment alone with Joan since w^e 
came to Hollywood,” he told his mother. 

Added to everything else, invitations for ten- 
nis and dances kept coming from the hotel, and he 
was expected to act as escort although he couldn’t 
for the life of him see why the girls enjoyed that 
particular crowd so much. He would have had a 
Imrd time of it, if it hadn’t been for the secret be- 
tween liimself and his father, and gradually this 


'HEART’S EASE’ 


229 


came to be all engrossing, necessitating many 
trips to the city, and long consultations. If the 
others had not been so occupied with their own 
affairs, they would have wondered about the cata- 
logues which were so quickly smuggled out of 
sight at their approach. Once Helen caught 
Scott’s words, 

“But, father, it’s the best climber,” and she re- 
marked carelessly to Joan, 

“Father and Scott evidently have a gardening 
bee. Every one gets it here. I overheard them 
talking about different varieties of roses. They 
must have quite a collection of seed catalogues by 
this time.” 

One day Miss Lottie handed Joan two or three 
little verses, with a half apology, 

“I wrote them in the garden, and they express 
the way I feel. It’s all so peaceful there, I for- 
got I have any cares or worries.” 

Joan was delighted and read them aloud to 
Helen, who insisted that the others should hear 
them. 

“This very evening,” she insisted, then, as Miss 
Lottie expostulated, “please don’t say a word. 
We’ll have all the garden sketches on exhibition, 
too. Father and Scott have scarcely seen them.” 

When the family came in from dinner, the 
room looked like a veritable garden, with sketches 


230 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


arranged on mantel, tables and easels. And they 
were beautiful, glowing with color. The old 
shed had been invested with particular charm, 
and the grape arbor was transformed into a 
magic background of masses of flowers. While 
the others were warm in their praise, Mr. Monroe 
made one comment, but Miss Lottie felt that was 
worth more than all the rest. 

“ Y ou paint the sunshine itself into your work.” 

“And one can almost smell the honeysuckle,” 
Scott added, enthusiastically. “There are not 
many who can make one do that.” 

Then, as every one waited expectantly, Joan 
began reading the lines clearly, and sweetly, 

“To an Old Garden.” 

I know a nook all free from care. 

Where roses sweet and posies fair 
Smile at each other all the day, 

As if there were no other way. 

Where hollies climb their ladders green, 

Like Jack’s of old, grown from a bean. 

And climb and climb and never stop, 

Until the last one stands a-top. 

The golden glow, like sun above 
Shines over all with constant love, 


‘HEART’S EASE’ 


231 


And sweet peas swing abroad their scent. 

To mingle with the mignonette. 

There’s poppies red and poppies white. 

And poppies golden with delight, 

And where the gentlest flowers keep tryst, 

Is love-lies-bleeding and love-in-a-mist. 

Ah, dear, delightful old time garden. 

Thy shady paths and flowers gay, 

I love, and in my heart I trace 
Sweet memories of this quiet place.” 

As she finished, a silence fell over the little 
group, broken by Mr. Monroe, who said, 

“We didn’t know you were a poet as well as 
an artist. Miss Lottie. The lines are exquisite. 
A bundle of sentiment like you is hardly the stuff 
of which a business woman should be made.” 

Miss Lottie impulsively rose, and taking one 
of the sketches, pressed it into his hand, saying, 

‘T made this for you, for I know you love hol- 
lies. It’s the last one I shall paint, as I must go 
home to-morrow.” 

“But you shouldn’t give it away,” he demurred, 
“to my mind it is one of the choicest,” but as she 
urged, he finally accepted. 

“I shall prize it greatly, for I have a special 


232 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


weakness for hollyhocks, as you guessed, but what 
is this about your going away?” 

“I have already stayed longer than I expected 
and — ” Miss Lottie hesitated as flushed and 
pleased as one of the girls. 

“Never mind if you have,” he said. “Scott 
and I have a special reason for not wanting you 
to go.” 

“Yes,” echoed Scott, “we have planned a big 
surprise for the whole family and you must surely 
stay, please, now. Miss Lottie.” 

“How mysterious!” exclaimed Helen, slipping 
her arm through Scott’s. “How long will it be 
before we know this wonderful secret ? Suspense 
is very wearing.” 

“You’ll have to wait until Saturday morning,” 
Scott remarked, firmly. “And I advise you girls 
to make no engagements for the future. Your 
time from now on will be fully occupied.” 

Joan laughed. 

“I’m convinced it’s something nice, from the 
little twinkle in Mr. Monroe’s eyes. Miss Lot- 
tie, you mustn’t go,” and the result of it was, the 
little artist telephoned her mother that she had 
decided to stay longer at “Heart’s-Ease.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE SURPEISE 

^‘Well, what do you think of it?” asked Scott, 
proudly. 

The “it” referred to was a seven passenger 
touring car of the latest model, standing before 
the bungalow. 

They were at breakfast when the “honk, honk I” 
of the machine was heard at the gate, and Scott 
and his father started from their seats motioning 
for the others to follow. 

“What do I think of it?” repeated Helen. 
“It’s perfectly splendid. So that was the secret 
between you and father. Mother, tell me, did 
you know about it?” 

Mrs. Monroe smiled. 

“I suspected from the beginning, and later 
they asked my advice in the selection of the 
model.” 

“And you never said a word, but let me think 
father and Scott were discussing the merits of 
different kinds of climbing roses. Oh, mummy. 


234 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


mummy,” and she laughed merrily over the suc- 
cess of the mystery. 

Joan’s eyes shone as they rested on the beauti- 
ful car. 

“It will be wonderful to spin over these shore 
roads. I think California grows more glorious 
every day.” 

“So it does to all of us,” said Mr. Monroe. “I 
am convinced that an automobile will be a great 
aid in seeing the country.” 

Miss Lottie noticed every detail of the new car, 
commenting especially on its grace and finish, 
and concluding, “One can tell it’s comfortable, 
too.” 

“It’s a corker,” Scott declared, “bigger and 
more powerful than any car of other makes. She 
takes the hills so easily. You ought to see how 
fast she can go.” 

“Don’t forget your promise, Scott,” reminded 
his mother. “As I told you, I object to a terrific 
rate of speed. Besides being dangerous, it is far 
from enjoyable.” 

“Don’t you be alarmed, mother, dear,” Scott 
put his arms around her. “I will be a good boy 
and only mentioned that point, as an advantage 
in case of an emergency. That’s the argument 
used in the catalogue. Hurry up with your veils 
and wraps for I am anxious to show you how well 


THE SURPRISE 


235 


I can drive. Never mind the goggles, this time, 
youll soon have all the right togs.” 

Mr. Monroe was right, an automobile is almost 
a necessity in California, and from that time on 
they were in the car for hours, from morning till 
night. They soon found it was best to prepare 
for all sorts of weather, for while the mornings 
after ten o’clock, were invariably warm, by half 
past three, the fresh ocean breezes would come up, 
necessitating warm wraps, and towards evening, 
furs were almost indispensable. Scott proved a 
good driver, as he was cool and level headed, and 
while sometimes tempted to exceed the speed 
limit, a warning word from his mother or father, 
was all the restraint necessary. 

There were miles and miles of roads as smooth 
as glass, leading in some directions, through what 
seemed like limitless groves of orange trees, again 
along boulevards lined with handsome homes; 
sometimes along the ocean front, and then wind- 
ing beneath rugged mountains. 

They passed across acres of vineyards, where 
whole families were engaged in picking grapes; 
the babies asleep in empty boxes, while the men 
and women filled crate after crate with the lus- 
cious fruit. Another time they saw hundreds of 
people at work preparing peaches for drying; 
cutting them in halves, removing the pits, carry- 


236 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


ing them in crates on their heads to lay in long 
rows on the ground where, as Mr. Monroe re- 
marked, “The California sunshine will do the 
rest.” 

They grew to love the olive trees whose soft 
gray tints contrasted with the deeper green of 
the other foliage, and were much interested when 
Miss Lottie told how the olives were prepared 
for market. 

“I know all about it for we had a gnarled old 
tree in our yard and father used to pickle as many 
as we could use. He would gather them before 
they were quite ripe, soak them in lime water to 
soften them, and then throw them in a vat into 
which he kept salt water constantly flowing. In 
a week or two they were ready for bottling. It’s 
an immense industry in this part of the country.” 

They found it great fun to buy fruit at stalls 
along the wayside or at the ranches themselves, 
and would come home with the tonneau of the car 
filled with all sorts of things. Even Joan ad- 
mitted it was better than going to market. 

They invited the Dane children to go with them 
on their first ride to Pasadena, crowding them all 
in, the two girls on the front seat and Morris 
squeezed in so tightly behind that for once he 
couldn’t wriggle. At Felicita’s suggestion they 
rode through Griffith Park, winding up at the 


THE SURPRISE 


237 


steep road by the Cahuenga pass, named for the 
kind old Indian of the long ago. Then they 
drove through the immense park, where the chil- 
dren were delighted at a glimpse of the animals 
and on across the city stopping a few moments 
to see the historic plaza and the first house in Los 
Angeles. 

Pasadena has been called by many enthusiasts, 
“The Crown of the Valley,” and it is one of the 
garden spots of the country, with its great hotels, 
crowded the whole year through, its handsome 
churches, its avenues famous for the home of the 
“millionaire colony,” Scott put it. 

“Oh, please, can’t we stop at the Busch Gar- 
dens?” begged Felicita. “There are the funniest 
little gnomes all over, besides ‘Little Red Riding 
Hood’ and ‘Plansel and Gretel,* and,” she nodded 
her curly head, “lots of them.” 

“There’s little houses, too, ’bout so high,” put 
in Morris, making an attempt to move, and sub- 
siding again into his place. 

“And the house of Snow White and Snow 
White lying all dead,” ended Mariquita dramat- 
ically. 

“I confess I am as anxious as the children to 
see the gardens,” said Mr. Monroe, as the car 
stopped at the entrance and the party alighted. 

They spent a delightful hour in the sunken 


238 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


gardens, wandering about and coming across all 
sorts of surprises in the way of Mother Goose 
figures, half concealed in the shrubbery. 

Then Miss Lottie proposed they should stop 
at the San Gabriel Mission. “It’s only a shoi*t 
distance, and miles never count with an automo- 
bile. Did you ever hear how the hostile Indians 
came to attack the party that were making the 
survey, but when the good padre held up a cloth 
with the Virgin’s picture, they threw down their 
arms, crowding around with gifts in token of 
submission?” 

As they drove through the streets of the quaint 
Mexican town, they were much interested in the 
adobe houses, and the women with the shawls 
thrown over their heads, who hurried past them 
as the mission bell called to vespers; even the 
children were quiet in the church where the de- 
vout worshipers knelt in prayer before the al- 
tar. 

“It isn’t one bit like the mission at Santa Bar- 
bara,” said Joan, softly, as they walked through 
the cemetery and paused before the belfry, with 
the three bells hung at varjung heights. 

The San Fernando Mission was farther away, 
and they decided to go there the next day. The 
road lay through a most fertile country, the grain 
gi’owing almost to the doors of the mission. 


THE SURPRISE 


230 


Olive trees nearly a century old and three ancient 
date palms gave an old world picturesque touch to 
the landscape. Miss Lottie was so charmed she 
declared she must make a sketch of the ruins, and 
while the others rested in the corridors, she seated 
herself on the ground under the shade of a euca- 
lyptus tree and worked busily. 

Scott had made a practice of never going any- 
where without a kodak and he proceeded to photo- 
graph the mission from every possible viewpoint. 
There was an old caretaker who was greatly 
pleased when he pointed his camera at him, and 
showed his appreciation by telling many inter- 
esting things about the place. 

“Perhaps you didn’t know the first gold in Cali- 
fornia was discovered hereabouts. An old fellow 
was out digging onions not a stone’s throw away, 
and what did he do but upturn some gold with 
the dirt.” 

“Really and truly?” asked Helen intensely in- 
terested as the caretaker stopped impressively, 
feeling he had made an impression. 

“Yes, and that was the beginning of all the 
excitement, and I want you to know the first gold 
minted at Philadelphy came from San Fer- 
nando.” 

By the time he had finished. Miss Lottie had 
put away her brushes and came up to them 


240 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


somewhat apologetically, displaying the result 
of her work, saying, 

“I did it too hastily, but it will at least serve to 
recall the lovely spot. Sometime I’m going to 
make a tour of all the missions. Those old fa- 
thers had an eye to the beautiful and always se- 
lected picturesque places for their churches.” 

It was that same evening when they were all 
together in the living room talking over the day’s 
excursion that Joan had an idea. She had been 
quiet for some time, but suddenly leaned forward, 
with the remark, 

“I’ve thought it all out, and I’m sure it can be 
done.” 

“Joan’s got a new one,” laughed Scott. “Give 
her a problem and she’ll manage to solve it soonef 
or later. What is it now?” 

“Oh, can’t you guess? It’s how to bring Miss 
Lottie’s sketches before people. It’s come to me 
all at once. We could give a studio tea, and 
when people saw them, they couldn’t help but 
admire them, and I shouldn’t wonder if she could 
sell ever so many.” 

“But, Joan,” said Mrs. Monroe, gently. “I 
don’t want to throw cold water on the plan, for I 
think it a good one, but the house wouldn’t hold 
enough people. You know a bungalow can’t be 
expanded on occasion.” 


THE SURPRISE 241 

“And where could we get the people?” ob- 
jected Helen. “We only know a few.” 

“I didn’t mean to have it here,” answered Joan, 
enthusiastically, “but at the hotel. I don’t see 
how the proprietor could have any objection — 
and don’t you see? There would be all of the 
hotel guests. I’m sure Mrs. Dane would help, 
and she knows ever so many society people, and 
perhaps the club women would take it up — ” 

“Joan Clayton, you’re a genius,” cried Helen, 
now roused to the possibilities of the idea. “I 
can see it all. Miss Go-ahead, the sketches ar- 
ranged around the room where they would show 
to the best advantage, mother receiving with Mrs. 
Dane, and introducing the famous artist; Joan 
assisting in pointing out the merits of the pic- 
tures, while your humble servant, knowing noth- 
ing of art, might be of service in getting things 
ready, and filling in the chinks.” 

Joan laughed. 

“You will give the final touch, if you’ll just 
wear your irresistible pink crepe dress and pic- 
ture hat, and see that each one has a cup of tea.” 

“I predict a howling success,” said Scott, 
gravely, “and offer my humble services as chauf- 
feur on this auspicious occasion. If necessary, I 
will go into the highways and hedges and bring 
the guests in my car.” 


242 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Miss Lottie was overwhelmed at the plan, but 
all joined in overruling any objection she pre- 
sented, and Mrs. Monroe settled the matter by 
saying, 

“I see no reason why it should not be success- 
ful, only you must have all of your sketches on 
exhibition, for it is always impossible to predict 
what may take the popular fancy and then be- 
sides people differ; one might prefer the views 
of the ocean, while others would choose a garden 
study.” 

Thej^ were so engrossed in their plans for the 
studio tea which was set for the following Tues- 
day that not one of them noticed Tako, who en- 
tered the room noiselessly, and held out a tele- 
gram on a silver tray to Joan. 

“What!” she cried, “for me?” Then, as she 
tore open the envelope and hastily read it, “It’s 
from Cousin John, listen: ‘Much interested in 
your artist friend. I remit New York draft for 
fifty dollars. Purchase ocean sketch — if possible 
one showing pier.’ ” 

Miss Lottie rose with clasped hands and shin- 
ing eyes. 

“I haven’t anything worth so much as that,” 
she exclaimed, but her words were drowned in 
the protests of the girls and Scott, too. 

J oan gave a happy laugh. 


THE SURPRISE 


'24a 


‘T was feeling so bad because Cousin John 
wasn’t here, and now it’s all right. Jack must 
have told him what I wrote about Miss Lottie 
and her lovely work.” 

“My dear,” said Mr. Monroe, putting a fa- 
therly hand on Joan’s shoulder, “let us consider 
this a favorable augury for your studio tea.” 


CHAPTER XVII 

THE STUDIO TEA 

When the proprietor of the hotel was inter- 
viewed in regard to the studio tea, he declared 
himself more than willing. 

‘‘Make yourselves at home, bring what you 
please, the lobby and the parlors will be at your 
disposal.’’ 

On Saturday, Scott drove Miss Lottie to her 
home a little distance from Los Angeles and they 
returned with twenty-five or thirty additional 
sketches, among which were two or three of the 
rocks at La Jolla, and a charming study which 
she had called “Fisher Boys at Catalina.” Joan 
liked this best of all. 

There was a discussion as to where the sketches 
should be placed, but Miss Lottie expressed her 
preference for the lobby, and Helen declared it 
a better plan, because it would be prettier to have 
the parlor for the tea table. 

At JNIr. Monroe’s suggestion, their big bear- 
skin rug was brought and placed in the lobby. 
Joan worked with Miss Lottie helping to arrange 


THE STUDIO TEA 


245 


the studies on mantels and easels. Scott, assisted 
by Tako, was tireless in his efforts to hang the 
framed pictures as far as possible according to 
instructions, “Almost on a level with one’s eye.” 

Helen and her mother arranged the parlors. 
The bronze Mercury, which Mrs. Monroe had 
purchased in Florence some years before, was 
placed on its pedestal in front of the big window, 
and Dallin’s Medicine Man stood on the mantel. 
Everywhere were masses of flowers ; golden glow, 
roses, carnations and asters. 

The tea table was Helen’s special corner. She 
set it herself with an embroidered centerpiece 
from a Genoese convent; and solid silver tea set. 
A crystal basket filled with delicate orchids gave 
the finishing touch. 

By two o’clock everything was ready, Mrs. 
Monroe in lavender silk. Miss Lottie in soft gray 
crepe de Chine, and Helen, like some budding 
rose in her pink dress and flower trimmed hat. 
Joan wore white and Scott Watched her in boyish 
approval. 

“Doesn’t Joan look dear in that white dress 
with just that red rose in her dark hair?” said 
Miss Lottie. 

“She’d look dressed up in a gunny sack,” re- 
sponded Scott. “It’s just the way she has.” 

The Dane children came early in dainty lin- 


246 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUUMER 

gerie frocks and wide Roman sashes. They were 
greatly excited, for they were to assist in passing 
the delicious little rice cakes Tako had proudly 
presented to the honorable mistresses. 

The Princess Curly-locks put up her face to 
Joan to be kissed, whispering, ‘T know some one 
who’s coming after ’while.” 

‘‘Who is it, dear?” Joan turned her attention to 
the tall vase in which she was arranging a great 
bunch of La France roses which had been sent in 
a few moments before from the hotel garden. 

“It’s Uncle Billy. He came last night and 
he’s won’ful, Joan. He tells us stories all the 
time. Mother told him to come ’bout five 
o’clock.” 

“We’ll be glad to see him,” answered Joan, 
still absorbed in her task. Helen came up just 
then for a final consultation. 

“Mother and Mrs. Dane have decided to take 
turns receiving guests and presiding at the tea 
table,” she said. “Oh, doesn’t it look perfectly 
lovely, Joan? And wouldn’t it be awful if no 
one should come, and no pictures were sold!” 

“Oh, but they will, I’m sure of it,” Joan 
laughed. “Uncle Billy will be here anyway, 
Curly-locks says.” 

Notwithstanding there was a half hour of sus- 
pense when Mrs. Monroe had all she could do to 


THE STUDIO TEA 


247 


keep the girls encouraged. In spite of their ef- 
forts, Helen began to worry for fear their trouble 
had been in vain, and their spirits did not revive 
until the proprietor himself put in an appearance, 
quite overwhehning them with his genial words 
of praise. 

‘T certainly owe you young people a great deal^ 
for making my rooms so attractive,” he said. 
‘Don’t be afraid, you will have plenty of visitors 
later on. About four o’clock will come the crush. 
I wanted to drop in early for a look for I want to 
keep one or two of these pictures myself. They 
are just what I have been wanting to brighten up 
the walls.” 

About half past three Mrs. Dane came in, the 
mother of the children. She was a pretty, nerv- 
ous little woman with a lorgnette and had hardly 
time to breathe, she confided to Joan. 

“But they really are charming, aren’t they?” 
she said, looking over the pictures hurriedly. 
“Caught the California tone, didn’t she? I’ll 
take that ‘Midday Strand’ and ‘Poppy Glow.’ 
The children will love them. You haven’t sold 
many, have you?” 

“Only these, so far,” Joan confessed. 

“Really? Isn’t that a shame? I’m going on 
to a garden tea, and have four calls to make, but 
— I’ll help spread the news for you.” 


248 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


Scott passed her a few minutes later, ’phoning 
industriously at the little stand in the palm cor- 
ridor. 

“And it seemed as if she was calling up every 
one in Hollywood she knew,” he told the gilds. 
Inside of half an hour there began to be results. 
Car after car came leisurely up the drive and the 
lobby and garden began to fill up. 

Helen had only time to flag signals of victory 
at Joan, so busy was she pouring tea while Joan 
piloted the guests deftly. Miss Lottie was beside 
Mrs. Monroe. Her face seemed transfigured 
with happiness as she saw people admiring her 
beloved work. It seemed as if she fairly bloomed 
into radiance imder appreciation. Every time 
Joan passed her by, she smiled eloquently. 

“You know,” she confided to Mrs. Monroe, “I 
never would have dared do this by myself. 
It was all Helen’s and Joan’s plan.” 

“The Fisher Boys” was especially admired, 
which pleased the little artist much, it being one 
of her few attempts at figure work. 

Joan was much attracted to a Mrs. Ingram, a 
sweet faced elderly woman, dressed in deep 
mourning, who showed great interest in the whole 
exhibit. She told Joan that her favorite was the 
picture of the ocean with the big clouds and the 
little boat in the distance. 


THE STUDIO TEA 249 

‘Tt is all so real and the ‘distance’ is wonder- 
fully good.” 

“She was making that very sketch when Scott 
and I discovered her, and we fell in love with it 
at once, although we don’t know anything about 
‘atmosphere’ or ‘distance,’ ” then, scarcely realiz- 
ing what she was saying, Joan poured out Miss 
Lottie’s story to her sympathetic listener. 

They talked fully fifteen minutes, Mrs. In- 
gram asking many questions, and Joan answering 
until Miss Lottie and Mr. Monroe came up, when 
J oan eagerly seized the opportunity to introduce 
them to her companion. 

“I’ll see if I can bring you some tea, if you will 
wait here,” she said. 

It was half past four and, just as the propri- 
etor of the hotel had predicted, there was a crush. 
As Joan elbowed her way with some difficulty to- 
wards the parlors, she stopped short suddenly. 
There was sometliing oddly familiar about the 
tall young man who stood with his back towards 
her discussing the merits of one of the pictures 
with Mrs. Dane, who had returned. She was 
greatly puzzled ; where could she have met 
him and what was his name? As she paused, 
lost in thought, she felt a little pull at her 
skirts, and looking down, saw Felicita by her 
side. 


250 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“Miss Joan,” said the child, “please. Uncle Bil- 
ly’s over there talking with mother.” 

Just then the tall figure turned around, and to 
her surprise, she recognized the mining engineer 
they had met in Salt Lake City. 

The recognition was mutual. He smiled and 
made his way to her side, eagerly holding out his 
hand. 

“I never expected to see you here. I had two 
weeks* vacation and decided to put it in with my 
sister in California. I got in late last evening, 
and while she urged me to come and see the pic- 
tures this afternoon, she did not mention the 
names of the hostesses. While I hoped I might 
be lucky enough to happen across you somewhere 
in California, I do not remember that you said 
anything about Hollywood.” 

“No,” answered Joan; “we didn’t know there 
was any such place at the time we met you, but 
after a month at the beach, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe 
decided to buy a home in California, and it was 
really through your sister, who had a cottage 
near us, that we finally settled here. When the 
Princess Curly-locks told me that ‘Uncle Billy’ 
was coming out ‘ ’bout five o’clock,’ I never for a 
moment guessed it might be you. I hear you can 
tell wonderful stories,” she glanced up at him mis * 
chievously. 


THE STUDIO TEA 


251 


He laughed down at her, “Now that you know 
that ‘William Stark’ and ‘Uncle Billy’ are one 
and the same person, teU me about yourself. 
How are you, and are you in love with Califor- 
nia? Although that question almost answers it- 
self, for not to love California is worse than 
heresy. Did Miss Helen recover from the sprain 
she gave her ankle?” 

“Oh, it wasn’t at all serious,” Joan said. 
“Here she comes now, so she can answer for her- 
self.” 

Helen had turned her head and was amazed to 
see her talking so familiarly with some one who 
seemed a stranger. A second look and she rec- 
ognized him as their Knight of the Mines, and 
there was a little added flush on her cheeks as she 
gave him her hand. 

“What brought you to our studio tea? I can’t 
understand it at all,” she looked at Joan, who 
answered gayly, 

“I can’t stop to explain for I’ve been away too 
long already. He’ll have to teU you himself,” 
and she hurried away, leaving them together. 

She returned to the lobby, full of apologies for 
her prolonged absence, but bearing the tea safely. 
Miss Lottie had been called away, but Mr. Mon- 
roe and Mrs. Ingram were so deep in conversa- 
tion that the tea and apology were accepted with 


252 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


a smile and little nod, as Mrs. Ingram went on, 
answering Mr. Monroe, 

“There is no reason why I should not do so. I 
have plenty of money, and since my husband died, 
my life has been an aimless one. I would like to 
feel I was doing some good in the world. She 
seems like a charming young woman, and her 
work shows decided talent. Would three years 
in New York enable her to get what she should 
have in the way of education, do you think?” 

“It would at least be a beginning,” Mr. Mon- 
roe assented, “and after that she could doubtless 
make her own way.” He turned to Joan with 
a smile. “My dear, Mrs. Ingram and I have 
been discussing your artist friend and she has 
expressed a wish to be of assistance to her. What 
do you think of a plan to send her east for three 
years and pay her expenses at any art school she 
might select?” 

For a moment Joan could not reply, but as the 
full realization of what this would mean to Miss 
Lottie came to her mind, she caught Mrs. In- 
gram’s hand impulsively, 

“What can I say? If you only knew how 
grateful I am,” her voice broke. “Some way I 
feel as if I couldn’t begin to tell you all this 
means to her, only I’m sure you would never re- 
gret anything you might do for her.” 


258 


THE STUDIQ TEA 

“It seems as though Providence had led me 
here to-day,” said Mrs. Ingram, gently, “for I 
was feeling very lonely. It is hard to live with- 
out an object in life, and when I saw the work of 
this little artist, and you told me of her disap- 
pointment and struggle to get a start, I became 
convinced that here was the opportunity for which 
I had been looking. Tell me, do you think she 
will object?” 

“Object?” Joan gasped. “Object? She will 
think you are a fairy godmother. How lovely it 
all is ! Another week and she would have begun 
her ofSce w’ork.” 

When Miss Lottie learned the good news, she 
was dazed at first. But as she tried to express 
her thanks, she ended laughing and crying to- 
gether. It had been such a wonderful afternoon, 
and she had had so many compliments, she 
couldn’t begin to remember them all, besides hav- 
ing realized nearly two hundred dollars from the 
sale of her pictures. 

“And I was planning on that to take me to 
New York,” she exclaimed, as she sat between 
Joan and Mrs. Ingram, one hand clasping that 
of each. 

Mrs. Ingram smiled. 

“You’ll need fully that to get yourself ready 
for the trip, and you mustn’t spoil my plan of 


2d4 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


paying all the necessary expenses for three years. 
At the end of the time, we shall see; as soon as 
you have a ready sale for your pictures.” 

The next day Miss Lottie went home, for there 
was much to be done. The date of Joan’s return 
had been fixed for the tenth of September. 

“And you must go with me,” she had said. 
“Jack has promised to meet me in Chicago, and 
you can get acquainted with him between trains, 
then we will see you off for New York before we 
take our train for Richmond.” 

Mrs. Monroe wrote her sister Margaret in 
New York asking if she would not have room in 
her apartment for Miss Lottie, ending with a 
postscript, 

“I am sure you would find her a charming com- 
panion.” 

The answer came by return mail. 

“I am delighted at your suggestion. Indeed, 
I shall be glad to have Miss Lottie with me. I 
shall be here the whole winter, except during the 
holidays, which I have promised to spend as 
usual in the Catskills with Sister Kate. Your 
little artist friend may like to accompany me, the 
scenery is so beautiful there.” 

“Imagine a person who had never been away 
from California,” Scott interrupted, “in the midst 
of all that snow.” 


THE STUDIO TEA 


255 


‘'We’II tell her to fix the birds’ Christmas tree, 
won’t we, Joan?” said Helen. “Wouldn’t it be 
fun if you could go there again?” 

Busy as they were in their plans for Miss Lot- 
tie, the girls found plenty of time for William, or 
Bill, as he insisted upon being called. The bet- 
ter they knew him the more they liked him, and 
Scott said he was an all around pal. He was 
ready for every kind of fun, danced well, played 
a splendid game of tennis and had a good tenor 
voice. There was scarcely a morning, afternoon 
or evening when the four were not together. His 
sister laughed as she complained that she scarcely 
saw him except at breakfast and the children 
mourned because Uncle Billy had no time to tell 
them stories. 

“I never thought our ‘Knight of the Mine’ 
could bloom into such a cavalier,” Joan said 
laughingly, as the two girls were cutting flowers 
for the house early one morning. Helen’s head 
bowed a little lower over the bed of poppies. She 
was never so quiet as when any one discussed 
“Bill.” 

“I like him because he is so sensible,” Joan 
went on. “Your father says just like Cousin 
John did, that he is a very good type of the young 
Western business man. How Jack would love 
to listen to his stories of the mines. What’s 


250 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


the matter, Helen? Don’t you like him, too?” 

“What does it matter whether I do or not since 
he suits every one else?” Helen answered with a 
little smile of mischief. “I should say with Miss 
Lottie that he seems a very likable commend- 
able youth,” and she ran into the house, laughing. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE WIENE ROAST 

“If only we could do something different!” 
urged Helen. “Bill’s two weeks will be up Fri- 
day and we ought to make to-morrow a red letter 
day.” 

“Why not take him to the ostrich farm? Bob 
seemed perfectly satisfied with his celebration,” 
answered Scott, as he stood proudly surveying 
his work. They were by the garage and Helen 
was watching her brother give a polish to his car. 
Not that Tako was in any way remiss in his care 
of the machine. On the contrary, he manifested 
the greatest possible interest in keeping it in ap- 
ple pie order, but no matter how the brass fur- 
nishing shone, Scott never could resist a last 
loving touch. 

“Don’t be provokng,” Helen pouted; “you 
know he wouldn’t care a snap about ostriches and 
he has probably seen loads of them. I mean 
something especially nice like — ” 

“Like what?” queried Scott. “Fire ahead.” 

“I don’t quite know, and I’ve thought and 


258 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


thought. If it only was a little later in the fall 
we could go nutting.” 

“He wouldn’t like that,” said Scott. “Won- 
der if we couldn’t do something up the canyon?” 

“That’s the very thing!” Helen brightened, “I 
have it now. Let’s have a wiene roast up the can- 
yon; you know, build a fire and roast them over 
it. How’s that, Scott?” 

“All right, if you have something to eat besides 
wienes. Fix up a dandy big lunch and let them 
be the spectacular part of the feast.” 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” cried 
Joan, coming round the side of the house. 
“What are you-all doing here? I can tell you 
are up to something. What’s the conspiracy?” 

“Helen has been cudgeling her brain for a 
celebration for Bill’s last day, and I must say 
she has hit on something that sounds good to me.” 

“What do you think of a wiene roast up the 
canyon? I mean all of us, father and mother, 
besides Helen and Bill, you and me.” 

“Splendiferous,” Joan said. “I must have 
had a presentiment you were going to have a 
picnic. I’ve been making purchases myself this 
morning.” 

“What kind of purchases?” asked Helen, eag- 
erly. 

“Oh, just what one needs for a picnic in the 


THE WIENE ROAST 


259 


woods, paper plates, napkins, and little paper 
containers for lemonade.” 

Scott gave a low whistle of appreciation and 
Helen threw her arms around her friend’s neck. 

“Joan Clayton, you are a jewel. You just 
foresee everything. Think of it, a whole picnic 
outfit! We’ll have a wonderful time. Scott 
and Bill can make a fire and hunt up the right 
kind of saplings ; they say the best come from the 
eucalyptus, and we’ll stick the wienes through the 
long way, and they’ll roast splendidly. 

“Mustn’t forget baked potatoes,” interrupted 
Scott, “a wiene roast isn’t complete without baked 
potatoes.” 

“It all sounds so good, my mouth waters al- 
ready,” said Joan. “You take your guitar, 
Helen, and I’ll have my ukulele, so, after the 
feast, we can sit around the fire and sing and 
play. I can hear Bill’s tenor now.” 

When the plans for the trip up the canyon 
were submitted to Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, there 
was a moment’s hesitation as the latter felt very 
timid about the sharp curves of the canyon road. 
But as Scott assured her that he would be very 
careful, she reluctantly gave her consent. It was 
decided to start shortly after luncheon which, as 
Helen argued, would give the afternoon for ex- 
ploring the canyon. 


260 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


'^We can have the wiene roast about five 
o’clock, and don’t forget, mother, about the po- 
tatoes and dill pickles, they’re absolutely in-dis- 
pens-a-ble, as Bobbie used to say.” 

Nothing was forgotten, the ukulele and guitar 
being stowed safely under the seat, with plenty of 
warm wraps and rugs to spread on the ground so 
no one could take cold. All were in high spirits, 
although, just before starting, Mr. Monroe con- 
sulted his barometer and remarked rather anx- 
iously, 

“If we were back in New York, I w'ould 
think there was going to be a thunder storm. 
It’s unusually warm and looks very much like 
it.” 

“It never rains this time of year in California,” 
Helen declared. 

Nevertheless, Mrs. Monroe tucked in her hus- 
band’s big raincoat, reflecting it would do no 
harm to carry it anyway. 

The ride was a pleasant one. For some dis- 
tance up, the canyon road was bordered by pic- 
turesque homes. Some were pretentious, with 
wide spreading lawns and gardens, others were 
pretty bungalows, while occasionally, they were 
surprised at catching sight of a real Swiss chalet, 
perched high on the steep mountain side. 

“And there are actually big stones on the roofs 


THE WIENE ROAST 


261 


like the ones we see in pictures of the Alps,” Joan 
cried, delightedly. 

The arroyo was almost dry and trickled in a 
tiny stream at the bottom of the canyon. Above 
their heads stretched towering eucalyptus trees. 
As they wound farther up, there were fewer 
houses, the road growing steeper, and the curves 
more dangerous. Once they were startled as an 
automobile whizzed around the corner just ahead 
of them, giving them barely space to pass in the 
narrow road. Scott’s lips were tightly com- 
pressed, and Helen repressed a frightened 
scream. Altogether, they felt relieved when they 
finally reached a little clearing where some flat 
stones and a fallen log made it seem especially 
desirable for a picnic. 

They laid the rugs on the ground under the 
trees and prepared to enjoy themselves. Mr. and 
Mrs. Monroe had brought one or two favorite 
books with the idea of reading aloud; Joan and 
Helen sat talking on the fallen log, while Scott 
and Bill wandered off in search of sage brush and 
twigs for the fire. It was very quiet and peace- 
ful there, this unusually warm afternoon. Be- 
yond, the great, strange trees, glimpses could be 
caught of the chaparral on the dry hills, and the 
silence was only broken by the trickling of the 
tiny brook or an occasional songbird. 


262 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


After a little, the boys returned laden with dry 
branches for the fire and with saplings they had 
cut from the eucalyptus trees. 

“Guess we’ve done all we can for a while,” said 
Scott, as he threw down his burden, “we might as 
well take a climb. You girls seem to be enjoy- 
ing yourselves, and Bill and I have our eye on 
that mountain top.” 

“Why can’t we go, too?” asked Helen. Joan 
seconded her, 

“Don’t you think girls can climb, too?” 

“If it wouldn’t be too hard,” was Scott’s rather 
doubtful answer, looking at his companion, but 
Bill smiled at Helen. 

“It’s a pretty big pull, but no worse than we 
had that day at the mines. We could take it 
gradually and, if the girls should give out, we 
could come back. It isn’t necessary to reach the 
top.” 

“We can do it, I’m sure,” Joan answered, as 
the two of them scrambled from their places on 
the log. “Think what good appetites we shall 
have.” 

“Don’t be too long,” was Mrs. Monroe’s part- 
ing admonition as she looked a little anxiously 
at the clouds. 

“We won’t, mother dear,” Helen called back, 
“so don’t you and father worry, but have a good 


THE WIENE ROAST 


263 


time with your book. We’ll be back in plenty 
of time for the wienes.” 

It was fun at first, even though the sun was 
hot and the mountain sides rough. The girls 
talked gayly and walked bravely, stopping occa- 
sionally to admire the tall stalks of the yuccas 
with their bell-shaped flowers; but after a little, 
Helen, especially, began to lag. There was no 
ocean breeze that afternoon, and no friendly tree, 
under whose branches they could find shelter; 
only the low mesquite bushes broke the mo- 
notony. 

“Say, now,” suggested Bill, doubtfully, as 
they paused for breath, “hadn’t we better go 
back? There isn’t any use getting too tired.” 

But the remark only seemed to inspire the girls 
with fresh courage and they indignantly refused 
to consider such a proposition, both declaring 
their determination to reach the mountain’s top. 

“It would be foolish to stop,” asserted Helen, 
“when we have come so far already. We can 
rest after a while.” 

“Besides,” urged Joan, “it’s worth the climb, 
to see the view. It’s beautiful now, and what 
must it be from the top?” 

They looked over the panorama of sea and 
land that spread out below them; to the west, 
beyond the lesser mountain peaks, the ocean ex- 


2G4 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


tended, a sheet of blue to the far horizon. In 
the opposite direction, they could discern the tall 
buildings of Los Angeles, and in the nearer dis- 
tance, Hollywood itself, the boulevard plainly 
defined, winding its ribbon like length at the 
foot of the mountain. 

Then they climbed up, Scott and Bill lending 
what help they could to the girls, who, by the 
time they reached the summit, were in such a 
state of semi exhaustion, it was no wonder they 
did not at first notice that the view was obscured. 
At length, Joan cried in surprise: 

‘T can’t see the ocean or the city. I believe 
we are actually above the clouds. I never knew 
that was possible, and the mountain peaks below 
us look like islands, with their heads barely show- 
ing.” 

It was no longer warm, and the wind was blow- 
ing; the young folks huddled close together and 
Helen’s teeth chattered as she shivered forlornly, 

“Why didn’t I do as mother suggested and 
take my sweater?” 

Bill happened to have a morning paper in his 
pocket and they crumpled it up, stuffing it up 
their sleeves and round their throats, in lieu of 
something better. 

Soon there were rumblings of thunder and 
flashes of lightning in the clouds below them, and 


THE WIENE ROAST 


265 


they could tell it was raining in the valley. They 
were all frightened; Scott essayed to whistle 
“Alone on a mountain top,” but he stopped 
abruptly, as he saw it was not a popular air, and 
exclaimed in a further effort to be cheerful, 

“As far as I can see, we’re fortunate anyway 
in being above the storm, although I never would ^ 
have selected a mountain’s top as a refuge at such 
a time.” 

As the storm continued the girls clung closer 
to each other, Helen giving little cries of terror 
as the lightning flashes came almost without in- 
termission, but Joan did not utter a syllable; 
only an added firmness about the mouth, as the 
muscles tightened and the intensity of her ex- 
pression betrayed her anxiety. The thought of 
Santa Barbara came to Scott’s mind. 

After what seemed to the watchers an in- 
terminable time, the clouds lightened, the flashes 
became fainter and the rumblings of thunder 
more distant. With distinct relief in his voice. 
Bill said, 

“Shouldn’t wonder if we could start down 
now. We don’t want to run the risk of another 
storm coming up.” 

Their limbs were cold and cramped, and the 
descent proved harder in some ways than the as- 
cent had been. 


266 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


There were numberless stones that gave away 
as their feet touched them, threatening to throw 
them; but slipping and scrambling, holding on to 
each other they made their way. After a time, 
it was still worse for the mountain sides being 
wet and slippery from the recent rain, they were 
obliged to go more cautiously. The sky was 
beautiful above them, and a wonderful rainbow 
stretched across the heavens. 

As they watched the glorious colors slowly fad- 
ing, Joan felt as if she understood as she never 
had before its significance; a wave of thankful- 
ness overw^helmed her. In the midst of the dan- 
ger they had not been harmed. 

Another short descent and they were in the 
canyon. The leaves were dripping with mois- 
ture and the swollen stream rushed madly in its 
bed. Soon they caught sight of their automobile 
among the trees and Mr. Monroe in his raincoat, 
picking his way over the wet underbrush and the 
guUies made by the storm. 

Helen rushed to meet him, crying, 

“Oh, father, father, hasn’t it been a dreadful 
storm! Are you and mother all right?” 

Joyfully he held out both hands to her then, 
seeing the others close behind, 

“Are you actually safe?” he called. “We 
were well protected in the machine, but your 


THE WIENE ROAST 


267 


mother is almost beside herself with anxiety.” 

“Henry, Henry!” cried Mrs. Monroe, just 
then, leaning out from the car, “do you see any- 
thing of the children? It seems as if I couldn’t 
endure this suspense another minute.” 

“Don’t have to, mother, we are all here, safe 
and sound,” answered Scott’s strong young 
voice. 

“Yes, and, mother dear, we’re not a bit the 
worse for the rain,” put in Helen; “in fact we 
are not even wet, for we weren’t in the storm at 
all, but above it, actually above the clouds on the 
top of the mountain.” 

It was some time before Mrs. Monroe was ac- 
tually convinced no harm had come to them. It 
almost seemed as if it was a miracle and they 
were obliged to repeat their story over and over 
again. 

“It was perfectly wonderful to see the light- 
ning flash and hear the thunder rumble in the 
clouds below us,” said Joan, her face flushed with 
excitement. 

“I never realized before how Noah must have 
felt when his ark rested on Mount Ararat,” re- 
marked Bill. “Pretty lonely kind of a place. 
You girls were plucky.” 

“How thoughtless I am,” suddenly inter- 
rupted Mrs. Monroe; “you must all be hungry 


268 JOAN’S CiULIFORNIA SUMMER 


and tired. Jump into the car and have some hot 
coffee and sandwiches.” 

'‘The suggestion of something hot sounds most 
awfully good to me,” commented Scott, “but 
what about our wiene roast?” 

“I’m afraid you’ll find it quite impossible to 
build a fire,” interposed his father. “Everything 
is wet. On the whole, you had better make up 
your minds to roast the wienes at home this time.” 

“In a chafing dish! That will be every bit as 
much fun,” exclaimed Helen, who, as usual, was 
quick to spring at a new idea. “And we can 
have toasted crackers on the electric toaster, 
can’t we, mummy?” 

“Anything you wish,” replied her mother, 
crumpling her napkin. “After this storm home 
will be a real haven of relief.” 

They found the canyon road in a dangerous 
condition from the recent rain, and Scott was 
obliged to take the utmost precaution as he 
rounded the slippery curves, but they reached the 
bungalow without mishap. 

As the machine stopped in front of the house, 
Tako rushed out most unceremoniously, shocked 
out of his accustomed calm by anxiety about his 
masters and mistresses. After Mr. Monroe had 
assured him they were all safe, and Helen had 
explained that they had decided to have the pic- 


THE WIENE ROAST 


269 


nic at home, he hastened to the kitchen to put in 
the potatoes and boil the wienes. 

Then the girls set the table as nearly as possible 
as they would have done in the woods, with paper 
tablecloth, napkins and plates, the only differ- 
ence being that they placed the chafing dish at 
one end, and the toaster beside it. Helen was to 
tend the wienes and Joan to toast the crackers, 
and surely a merrier party never sat down to a 
feast in the woods than did they that evening in 
the cozy dining-ix)om. How good the wienes 
smelled as they cooked, Scott thought, and how 
appetizing they looked as the girls took turns try- 
ing them with toothpicks to see if they were done. 

“Isn’t it too funny,” cried Helen, “how we 
went up the canyon on purpose for a wiene roast 
and came back to ‘Heart’s Ease’ after all? This 
has been a most unusual day, I must say.” 

“I don’t believe there is anything in the world 
as delicious as wienes,” said Joan, at the same 
time helping herself to her third dill pickle, an 
carefully buttering a toasted cracker. 

“Especially when one has the best of sauce,” 
was Mrs. Monroe’s laughing response. 

After the feast, they gathered round the fire- 
place in the living room, and Joan brought out 
her ukulele, and Helen, her guitar. They 
played one tune after another, while the boys 


270 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


joined in singing their favorite, “California, Cali- 
fornia.” 

“I love you California, 

You’re the sweetest state of all; 

I love you in the winter, summer, spring and in 
the fall. 

I love your fertile valleys, your mountains I 
adore ; 

I love your grand old ocean and I love your 
rugged shore.” 

Mrs. Monroe had already warned them it was 
time to break up for the evening, when Joan pro- 
posed a story. 

“I mean the kind that one person starts and 
the next one takes up,” and she straightway be- 
gan, “Once upon a time, as the old books all say, 
there lived a certain knight, who went forth to 
seek adventures, and he was of great prowess and 
all he did was very good. And, by chance, it 
happened that he came across a company that, 
like the Canterbury pilgrims, were traveling 
through the country, and — ” she paused dra- 
matically, motioning to Bill to continue. 
Somewhat embarrassed, he ejaculated, 

“Oh, I say, you’ll have to excuse me, you girls 
have more imagination than I have.” 


THE WIENE ROAST 


271 


‘T know,” said Helen with an understanding 
glance at Joan. “And the valiant knight became 
their guide and led the pilgrims through dark 
places below the earth, where it is indeed dan- 
gerous, and after he had shown them wonderful 
treasures of gold and silver, brought them safely 
again to the surface.” 

“And this ended the first adventure, and the 
second is like unto it,” said Scott, entering into 
the spirit of the tale. “And it came to pass there 
was still another adventure, upon a mountain top, 
and they were not harmed, although there was 
thunder and lightning upon the plains below.” 

“I can supply the next,” said Bill, laughing. 
“And after the perils of the lightning, there was 
feasting in the hall and music and joy because no 
harm had come to the knight and his brave com- 
panions.” 

“Hear! Hear!” broke in Scott, and, after the 
merriment subsided, J oan concluded, 

“So endeth the second adventure.” She 
smiled at Helen dreaming beside the fire. “I’m 
too tired to think, and anyway, no one knows 
what the third adventure will be.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


EXCITING NEWS 

The rest of the family had scattered on vari- 
ous errands, but Joan, pleading letter-writing as 
an excuse, had remained at home. This was 
Wednesday, and she had not yet answered Jack’s 
letter, which she had received the Saturday be- 
fore. He had written at length, telling her all 
about Mr. Porter’s trip to New York with Lidy 
and her sister. 

The plan all along had been to go in July, but 
the specialist had been away and had only just 
returned. It had turned out so happily that 
Joan’s heart had been singing ever since. After 
a thorough examination of the child’s eyes he 
had pronounced that the trouble was caused by 
a somewhat obscure disease of the retina. Jack 
had not been sure of the name, but promised to 
find out and give it to her in his next. The ocu- 
list had, moreover, advised an operation, which, 
though delicate, was not critical, and then care- 
ful treatment under his immediate care for at 
least two months. If all went well, he saw no 


EXCITING NEWS 273 

reason why, as the child grew older, her sight 
would not gradually strengthen. 

He had besides, made the assertion that it was 
not at all strange that the trouble had not been 
understood by oculists before consulted as there 
had been great advances made of late along those 
lines and many diseases now yielded to treatment 
which had hitherto been considered hopeless. 
The child’s age was greatly in her favor, of 
course. 

There being no reason for delay, the operation 
had been performed the next day, after which 
Mr. Porter and Lidy had returned to Hillview, 
leaving Happy Day in the beautiful private hos- 
pital which was the specialist’s particular pride. 

After reading Jack’s letter, Joan seated her- 
self at her desk and began, 

^'Dear Jack: 

“You were certainly good to go into so many 
details. I have a long afternoon before me and 
will try to imagine you are sitting here with me 
and we are — ” 

A sharp ring at the bell made her stop 
abruptly, and reflecting it was probably the post- 
man, she hurried to the door, returning with a 
budget of letters and papers. Running hastily 


274 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


through them, she found two for herself, one 
from Theo, postmarked the twentieth, and the 
other from her mother, evidently written and 
mailed the following day. Deciding to read 
them in their order, she opened the one from 
Theo, 

Sister Mine: 

“Jack has written you about Happy Day and 
her trip to New York. Isn’t it fine it turned out 
as it did, and the poor child will, without a parti- 
cle of doubt, have her sight? So much for mod- 
em science. 

“We are counting the days now when you will 
be home, less than a month, and you may be sure 
we will keep you talking a blue streak when once 
you are here. The mater says Bob is a perfect 
Baron Munchausen with his tales. I wish I 
might have been at the Studio Tea — it must have 
been a great affair, and I am sure you-all looked 
your prettiest and sweetest, and that always helps 
to make a success. From what you write. Bill 
must be splendid company. Can’t you persuade 
him to come to Hillview sometime? 

“I am wondering how it must seem in Cali- 
fornia, trying to imagine the different kinds of 
trees, and do tell me what a jacaranda is, but 
there, I mustn’t write any longer now for I have 


EXCITING NEWS 


275 


an engagement to play tennis at three. Only 
be sure of tliis, I am coming to California and 
see everything for myself. Good-by, 

“Theo.” 

“Yes/* reflected Joan, “they must all come to 
California some time.” Then she had a brilliant 
thought, “Why couldn’t Theo and mother spend 
next winter in Santa Barbara, and she and Jack 
keep house at home? It would do them both a 
world of good.” 

Then she fell to dreaming of Santa Barbara 
and the charm of the peaceful Mission. Mus- 
ing, she took up her mother’s letter and 
glanced over the first few lines, scarcely compre- 
hending what they were about. Suddenly she 
started, as these words stared at her from the 
top of the second page, 

“Pappy is dead!” 

There must be some mistake, neither Jack nor 
Theo had mentioned Lidy’s father, but, no, there 
it was, 

“I have a great deal to tell you to-day. First 
of all, Pappy is dead.” Then the letter went on. 

“It all happened so suddenly, three days after 
Lidy returned from New York. He had been 
much interested in hearing what the doctor had 
said, asking over and over again, ‘an’ she’s goin’ 


276 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


ter see, my little pretty, goin’ ter see?’ Then, 
as Lidy repeated the doctor’s statement, he had 
said, ‘Maw ’ud be that glad.’ 

“The next morning, seemingly in his usual 
health, he started out for one of his rambles in 
the woods, ‘jes’ ter see ef the pawpaws ain’t 
gittin’ ripe,’ he told Lidy. 

“That was the last she saw of him until late 
that night, when Mr. Osgood brought him home 
in his car, having found him face downward, un- 
der one of the trees near the road that ran 
through the forest. Noticing a form stretched 
on the grass, he had stopped his car and gone to 
him. He would not have known who the man 
was had it not been for Jean who was with him, 
and who recognized him at once as Lid3’^’s father, 
the man who could make such wonderful bird 
houses. Stooping over, he tried, vainly, to re- 
store Pappy to consciousness, then lifting him 
into the machine, he had brought him to the little 
cabin. 

“When the doctor came, he pronounced it a 
stroke of some kind, and gave little hope of his 
recovery. Pappy died the next day at noon, 
having regained consciousness only once about 
ten o’clock when Cousin John and Lidy were 
alone with him. Motioning Lidy to come to his 
bedside, and pointing to an old hair trunk in the 


EXCITING NEWS 277 

corner, he spoke, evidently with great effort, 
‘They’re there, all uv ’em/ 

“As Lidy questioned him, he hoarsely replied, 
‘Them papers as I got down in Tenn’see; 
you-uns are as good as enny. Maw alius wanted 
you-uns should be eddicated!’ 

“That was all, in another moment he was gone. 
The funeral took place the next day and Lidy, in 
her simple black dress, sat heart-broken by the 
pine coffin, while the minister pronounced the 
few last words. Poor child, he was all the father 
she had. Aiter it was over, I insisted on her 
coming home with me. She wiU be here for the 
present, perhaps indefinitely. We must take 
care of the two waifs which fate has brought to 
our door.” 

Turning the pages, Joan read it all again, 
from the beginning. So Pappy was dead! She 
could not realize it and sat so absorbed in her 
thoughts that she did not hear the honk of the 
motor and started when Scott entered the room, 
with a cheerful, 

“Hello, Joan. Dreaming? What is it all 
about?” 

She turned, and, for a moment, did not answer, 
then all she said was, 

“Oh, Scott!” 


278 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


“What is it?” he repeated more gently, seat- 
ing himself in the big chair at her side. “No 
bad news about the little girl, I hope.” 

“Not that,” she answered, “but Pappy’s 
dead.” 

‘What, Pappy Clay? So the old fellow’s 
gone? I couldn’t help but like him after all, 
and there wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about the 
woods and animals. Great old chap!” 

“Yes, but think of those two poor girls left 
all alone,” 

“Pretty hard lines, I admit, still I don’t know 
as he was any special help to them. He was fond 
of them, although he had a funny way of show- 
ing it, going off months at a time and leaving 
them to shift for themselves. They’re liable to 
get along better without him.” 

“I don’t know but that is so. Mother has said 
more than once that she wanted to educate them, 
and now that Happy Day’s eyes are going to be 
all right, we can do so much for both of them.” 
Then she felt a great wave of sympathy for Lidy 
as she thought, “She can’t help but miss him ; I 
wish I could put my arms around her and com- 
fort her.” 

While they were at breakfast the next day, 
came still more startling news from Jack. How 
bulky the letter was! She wondered, as sho 


EXCITING NEWS 


279 


opened it, what it could all be about. She hoped 
nothing dreadful had happened, and began read- 
ing it to herself. 

^*Dear Twin: 

‘T don’t know what you will think when you 
hear the news I have to tell you. It’s all true — 
I mean about the resemblance you always fancied 
between Lidy and the son the old gentleman dis- 
inherited.” 

She stopped with a gasp. 

‘‘What’s the matter?” inquired Helen, really 
frightened, while Scott handed Joan a glass of 
water; “if you continue to have such exciting 
letters, we’ll have to censor the mail. What 
has happened now?” 

“Listen,” said Joan, and she read, 

“It’s all true, I mean the resemblance you al- 
ways fancied between Lidy and the son the old 
gentleman disinherited. I believe mother wrote 
you of some papers that Pappy referred to the 
last time he was conscious. Well, the day after 
the funeral, Lidy got them out of the trunk and 
gave them to Cousin John. Then he called us 
into the library, saying he thought we’d better all 
be together when he looked them over, and now 


280 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


for the story, and see if you don’t think truth is 
stranger than fiction. 

“As far as I can get it all straight, it seems the 
last time Pappy went to Tennessee, he took pains 
to hunt up some old records and copied out dates 
and all.” 

“He was a smarter old chap than we thought,” 
interrupted Scott, admiringly, but at Helen’s im- 
patient “hush” he subsided as Joan continued — 

“The paper was mussed and torn from having 
been so long in Pappy’s pocket. You know he 
was gone over five months that last time, but we 
could make it out without difficulty. 

“Cousin John blessed his soul at least three 
times before he began to read aloud. First came 
the date of marriage of one Richard Clayton in 
August, 1835, only the name was scratched and 
Dick Clay substituted in its place. Who could 
that be but the son of Richard Hervey Clayton 
who, according to our own records, was driven 
from home. May 10th, 1835? Then came the 
mention of a son, Dick Clay, born the following 
year, and further down, his marriage and the 
birth of another Dick Clay, which, according to 
our records, must have been Pappy himself. His 
marriage to Elizabeth Golden is given, and be- 


EXCITING NEWS 


281 


low that is written : born, Lydy Clay, and after 
mention of two other children who had evidently 
died, comes the name ’Lisbeth. 

“We were puzzled at that until Lidy suddenly 
spoke up and said, ‘Why, that’s Happy Day. 
Ma used to call her Lisbeth sometimes, though 
she liked Happy Day better, ’cause she said she 
wanted she should always have Happy Days.’ 

“So now you have it all and can make of it 
what you can. Just what relation the two girls 
are to us is more than I can figure out.” 

“They’re cousins, of course, and cousins to be 
proud of, too,” said Joan, thoughtfully. “Oh, 
doesn’t it seem pathetic to think of that proud 
young man cast out of his home and wandering 
down through those lonely Tennessee mountains, 
then changing his name, and marrying some 
mountain girl?” 

“He couldn’t have been very well contented,” 
put in Scott, “for, if I remember rightly, you 
said it was known that he died abroad the next 
year. I must say it’s an awful warning against 
dissipation. Think what his life might have 
been if he hadn’t angered his father!” 

“Oh, isn’t it all romantic!” cried Helen, almost 
carried away by excitement. “I always knew it 
couldn’t be true what your Cousin John thought. 


282 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


that they were descended from some old jail bird 
of a Bill Clay who used to loaf around Hillview 
once upon a time. I always did think Pappy 
was a gentleman in the rough, every animal in the 
neighborhood was friendly with him to say noth- 
ing of the birds, and that shows he wasn’t half 
bad. Once he helped me over a fence, and I de- 
clare neither you nor Jack could have been more 
courteous. As for Lidy, she has more brains 
than I have. I’m perfectly convinced of that by 
the way she got the red ink out of my traveling 
blouse when all I could do was to stand around 
and mourn over the calamity. I told her then I 
wanted her to spend a whole year with us, and, 
Joan, you must make it your special duty, to see 
that she does. Besides, mother, she does the best 
basket work of her whole class ; oh, and Happy 
Day has the sweetest voice. You should have 
heard her sing the Christmas carols. I’m abso- 
lutely sure she has a career before her.” 

“You haven’t heard quite all the letter,” put 
in Joan, and as Helen composed herself to listen, 
she resumed. 

“You should have been here, Joan, for I tell 
you it was exciting. Cousin John, wiping his eyes 
and blessing his soul at intervals, and Lidy, white 
as a sheet, repeating over and over, ‘It can’t be so, 


EXCITING NEWS 


288 


no, it can’t be so,’ until the mater went over and 
kissed her and told her how we loved her and 
how we were going to make up to her for the 
hardships she had suffered. Right in the midst 
of it Margie came in and sat down by Lidy’s side. 
Of course she didn’t understand what it was all 
about, but after the mater had finished talking to 
Lidy, Margie reached out and took hold of her 
hand, saying in her soft little voice, 

“ T love you and I love Happy Day, too.’ 

“Well, the upshot of it all is that Cousin John 
is going to-morrow ‘down Tennessee way’ as 
Pappy would have said, to look up the records 
and see that everything is straight, but of course 
it is, and to think, Joan, you were the one who 
first noticed Lidy’s resemblance to that portrait 
we foimd stowed away in the attic.” 

By the time the letter was finished, Mrs. Mon- 
roe was crying and Mr. Monroe wiped his eyes 
and commented, 

“A remarkable story, certainly, but those 
things do sometimes occur,” while Joan, still 
dazed, went to her room to think it over. 

Meantime, Mr. Porter was on his way to 
Tennessee. As Pappy had given the name of 
the little settlement in the Cumberland Moun- 
tains, he had no difficulty in finding how to reach 


284 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


it. “By train to M and then the stage up 

the mountains,” the ticket agent at Richmond 
had told him, at the same time giving him a ques- 
tioning glance, as if he wondered what sort of 
business could take a man like Mr. Porter to such 
an out of the way place. 

He met with other questioning glances before 
he reached his destination. As he climbed into 

the dilapidated stage at M , the one other 

passenger, an old man, evidently a mountaineer, 
eyed him curiously at first and then ques- 
tioned, 

“Air it yer fust visit up these mountings?” 
Then, without waiting for a reply, continued, 
“I low as ’taint fine es it is down yander, but 
arter all, it’s a toler’ble kind o’ country. Air ye 
thinkin’ o’ runnin’ a railnid through these here 
parts? ’Pears like it would be a difF’cult thing 
fur to do.” 

Mr. Porter having signified he had no such 
intention, asked his companion if he knew of any 
settlement near there by the name of Pine Top, 
and if there was a schoolhouse in the vicinity. 

Delighted at this opportunity to supply in- 
formation, the mountaineer replied, 

“Wa-al ye-es, ye can jes’ go along furder up 
the mounting and kem down to’ther side or ye 
kin git off hyar and strike ’round through the 


EXCITING NEWS 285 

woods, fust ye’ll see the cabins an’ furder on^the 
schoolhus.” 

“Thank you,” replied Mr. Porter, and halting 
the stage he set out to make the rest of the way 
on foot, glad to be thus easily rid of his garrulous 
companion. 

As he struck off through the woods, he drew 
a long breath of the exhilarating air; there was 
something fascinating to him about the moun- 
tains, the wilderness of pine trees, the laurel 
that bordered the trail, the sight of an eagle seen 
through the branches, the tinkle of a cow bell, 
’mid the sassafras bushes, all made him think of 
Craddock’s descriptions. There was a beauty in 
the beech shadows that surely could be found no- 
where else. 

He came across a mountaineer or two ; a young 
fellow, who, with his fierce black eyes looked, in 
his homespun shirt, as if he might have stepped 
out of the pages of a book, and a girl with a face 
like a rose, under her faded blue calico sunbonnet, 
made him wonder if poor heart-wounded Riehard 
Clayton had happened on a girl like that in the 
strange country. 

After awhile, he came to the cabins which were 
pitiful apologies for homes, for the most part, 
and not far from them he found the old red brick 
schoolhouse. Next door was a small bouse, and 


286 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


surmising it might be the home of the school mas- 
ter, he rapped at the door. It was opened almost 
instantly by a tall angular woman, who, on learn- 
ing that he wished to examine the records, called 
her husband from the other room. 

Both husband and wife were white-haired, and 
had been there many years. They had come on 
account of the woman’s health, but had gi’own to 
love the mountains and had gradually given up 
all thought of returning. He had filled every 
office in the little settlement, including that of 
minister and schoolmaster. 

On Mr. Porter’s showing him the papers and 
asking for information, he took him over to the 
schoolhouse, talking as they went. 

‘T knew well the man you speak of as Pappy. 
In fact, it was my niece he married. It almost 
broke her aunt’s heart. She was a pretty little 
thing who, after her mother’s death, came to 
make her home with us. She used to help in the 
teaching, and she had a voice like a lark. It 
broke us all up when she married, as we always 
planned to send her away and give her a chance 
in the world, but she wouldn’t give him up. 
They stayed here until after the child, ’Lisbeth, 
was born, then some strange fancy made him 
move away, and, though he had a habit of ap- 
pearing from time to time, we could ne^^er find 


EXCITING NEWS 


287 


out much about them, only that his wife had 
died, and the little girl was going blind. Think 
of the shiftless fellow having good blood in him I 
Surely the ways of the Lord are inscrutable. 
But come in and have dinner with us. My wife 
will want to talk it all over.” 

Mr. Porter was more than pleased to accept 
the invitation. After the simple meal was fin- 
ished, he told them about Pappy Clay’s death 
and all the Clayton family’s plans for the chil- 
dren. Then he sat at the pine table and wrote 
Joan about his trip and the examination of the 
records, but particularly of what he had learned 
of the children’s mother; how, doubtless, there 
had been some trace of finer instincts in poor, 
shiftless Pappy Clay that had appealed to the 
young wife who was so evidently his superior, 
and whose life had proved a tragedy. He added 
a postscript: 

“My dear, there is one other thing to tell you. 
While it is true that Richard Henry Clayton cut 
his son absolutely off from his inheritance, there 
was a codicil to the will that in the event of there 
being found any heirs of said Richard Clayton, 
a sum of twenty thousand dollars be kept intact 
for their maintenance. That money has been 
untouched and shall be paid over as soon as the 


288 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


children come of age. Until then a guardian 
must be appointed to handle it for them.” 

Joan was alone when she read the letter from 
Mr. Porter. She cried over the first part, and 
exclaimed in delight at the thought of the twenty 
thousand dollars. Why wasn’t Scott or some 
one else there to whom she could tell the good 
news? But her fingers trembled as she ad- 
dressed an envelope for the first time to her new 
cousin, 

“Miss Lydia Clayton, 

“Hillview, Virginia. 

*'Dear Cousin Lydia: 

“I am so glad we are really and truly cousins, 
and that everything has come out aU right. Give 
my love to ’Lisbeth, and tell her I hope she will 
have only happy days from now on, 

“Affectionately, 

“Joan.” 

“P. S. — It won’t be long before I shall be back 
in Hillview and what good times we will have!!” 


CHAPTER XX 


POSTCARDS AND SOUVENIRS 

‘‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!” sighed Joan in despair, 
“what a bother it is to pack!” Her eyes rested 
lovingly on one treasure after another. “One 
thing is certain, I wouldn’t want to leave a single 
thing behind me.” 

She was a picture in her dainty white cap, as 
she puckered her brows and bent her flushed 
face over her trunk. The room was in a state 
of picturesque confusion; her favorite skirts and 
blouses she had folded first of all and laid care- 
fully in the trays; on the bed were piles of dainty 
lingerie, and three different boxes held her hats. 
How could she take them all? She lifted the 
covers to give them an affectionate glance: there 
was her cherished leghorn, with the dream of an 
ostrich plume, she must be careful not to spoil 
that; then the little toque Scott liked so much, 
although he persisted in designating the “stick- 
up” as a rooster feather; her becoming sailor 
and beach hat were in the same box, she couldn’t 
possibly get along without either of them. 


290 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


‘‘Joan, Joan,” came Helen’s voice from the 
little hallway that separated the bedrooms, 
“where under the sun are you?” 

“Here I am,” was the answer, “having a dread- 
ful time trying to pack. Do come and give me 
some advice.” 

Helen entered the room to find her contem- 
plating three or four pairs of shoes. 

“What can I do with them?” she demanded, 
dolefully. “And the worst of it is, these are not 
all. My patent leather pumps and high white 
boots are over there in bags, and there are ever so 
many other things just as perplexing. Look at 
the closet. I have scarcely started yet, and I’ve 
been working over an hour. I’ll have to buy 
another trunk, that’s all there is to it.” 

Helen went into one of her characteristic peals 
of laughter, at the same time opening her apron. 

“I’ve brought another contribution. Here’s 
at least three dozen of the biggest lemons you 
ever saw. Tako has been saving them for you.” 

“How perfectly fine! They’ll make splendid 
pies. I can see them now covered with white 
frosting. Won’t they weigh too much?” 

“Never mind if they do. You can tuck them 
in the corners. They can’t do any harm. I 
heard of a woman once who brought a can of 
molasses in her trunk.” 


POSTCAKDS AND SOUVENIRS 291 

*‘What happened?” inquired Joan, absently, 
forcing an extra fine lemon into a space she had 
suddenly discovered, reflecting as she did so, how 
it would delight Aunt Johnny’s heart for after- 
noon tea. 

“Exactly what you would expect, to be sure. 
The molasses oozed out and ruined her best 
gown.” 

“What a nice cheerful thing to tell me now. 
Have you seen Scott’s kodak views? He 
mounted them himself. Where is that album? 
I’m sure I laid it on that table not more than a 
moment ago.” 

Both girls hunted frantically through piles of 
clothing, upturning much that was already 
packed, only to find the album in one of the bu- 
reau drawers where Joan suddenly remembered 
she had put it, thinking the table was too 
crowded. 

Scott had taken a good deal of pains with his 
kodak views and had developed them himself. 
He had planned from the first to mount them 
for Joan as a reminder of her trip ; on the outside 
he had printed in most artistic fashion, “A Sum- 
mer in California,” and had arranged the views 
in order. The two girls sat down on the floor 
in the midst of the confusion, the perplexities of 
the packing for iJie time, forgotten. 


292 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


First came the group at Hillview; they were 
all there although the mater’s face was so blurred 
that it was almost unrecognizable, and it was im- 
possible to distinguish between Helen and J oan, 
but it was interesting anyway. 

Turning a page or two, Helen cried, hap- 

piiy- 

“This must be Great Salt Lake! Look at 
Scott himself serenely floating on the water. 
How I am squinting. That was because the sun 
must have been directly in my eyes.” 

“And my face is all screwed up from having 
swallowed some of that dreadful salt water. 
Cousin John must have snapped that one.” 

“Isn’t this good?” Helen found a view of 
Eureka Hill, dotted with the hoisting works of 
the big mines. “I expect it was too dark under- 
ground to take a picture, but I would have liked 
to see how the ghostly procession looked all carry- 
ing candles.” 

“Here’s that lovely spot by the lake at Tahoe,” 
Joan put in. “There are half a dozen at least of 
San Francisco, the bay, and the Golden Gate 
and, yes, that’s Bob watching the Chinaman put- 
ting the change in his ears. This is the only pic- 
ture I have of your father.” She held open a 
page for Helen to see a view of the canyon with 
Mr. and Mrs. Monroe under the trees and the 


POSTCARDS AND SOUVENIRS 293 


automobile standing near. “How I prize this 
book!’’ 

Fully an hour slipped by, the girls happily 
chatting. There was scai-cely a place they had 
visited or an experience they had had that the 
kodak views did not recall. 

“It certainly was a great idea of Scott’s to 
mount the pictures in that way, and I’m going 
to ask him to make an album exactly like it for 
me,” exclaimed Helen, as they turned the last 
page. 

“If you won’t think me sentimental,” Joan 
said, softly, “I’ll show you my book of pressed 
flowers. There were so many lovely ones that 
were new to me I couldn’t resist making a collec- 
tion.” 

“ ‘Only a pansy blossom, only a faded 
flower,’ ” answered Helen, teasingly. “I 
wouldn’t have thought of doing it myself, but 
let’s see what you have.” 

“Well, first comes one of the columbines from 
Lake Tahoe; don’t you remember how perfectly 
exquisite they were? And next,” she hesitated 
a moment, “next is a nosegay the old monk gave 
me there at Santa Barbara.” 

Helen looked at her curiously. “I can under- 
stand about the columbine, because they are un- 
usual, but I never would have thought of keep- 


294 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


ing the flowers the funny old monk picked — but 
what is this?” 

“That’s the magnolia blossom; it was so big I 
couldn’t get it all on the page, so I took one 
petal ; and here’s some real true orange blossoms. 
I had to look ever so long before I could And 
them, and, oh, yes, two or three flowers we picked 
on the hill at Catalina, besides some acacia — and 
this is heliotrope from Miss Lottie’s garden; but 
I think the most of these sprays of seaweed, they 
are so graceful and smell of the ocean even now.” 

“Oh, show me your postcards,” laughed Helen. 
“They appeal to me more than dried-up flowers.” 

Joan put away her flower book. She knew 
Jack and Lidy would like it. 

“I have literally dozens of picture postals, but 
do you know, I wish I had a few more. When 
I get home I am going to arrange them in some 
kind of a book and write underneath interesting 
things about each one.” 

“That’s a good idea, and since I haven’t any- 
thing on earth to do, suppose I run down after 
lunch and get what else you want.” 

“Oh, if you would,” was Joan’s grateful re- 
joinder. “I haven’t one thing of the ostriches, 
and Scott wasn’t there to take a snapshot. 
Margie would be so interested in seeing how they 
looked, and I would love to have one or two of the 


POSTCARDS AND SOUVENIRS 295 


San Gabriel Mission, you know ; one showing the 
bells and another of the lovely old staircase. I 
don’t see why I didn’t get them myself.” 

With a parting word of advice, Helen de- 
parted to get ready for her trip, leaving Joan 
wrestling with her packing. She worked busily 
until twelve o’clock, and went at it again as soon 
as luncheon was over. 

‘‘Hello, there,” suddenly sounded a voice un- 
der her window. Looking out she discovered 
Scott, dejectedly pacing back and forth. “Can’t 
you take pity on a fellow and come for a ride? 
I hung around all morning trying to get a 
glimpse of you and you disappeared the moment 
lunch was over. I call it hard lines, especially 
as, by this time to-morrow, you’ll be gone.” 

“Oh, Scott, how can I, when there’s so much 
to do?” 

“Let it go, don’t disappoint a fellow. It’s our 
last chance, Joan. They won’t come for the 
trunk until to-morrow, will they?” 

“No, but—” 

“No buts, please.” 

“All right,” she said, relenting. “Only we 
mustn’t be gone but a very little while.” 

Fifteen minutes more and they were riding 
over the smooth roads she loved so much. Al- 
though it was September, there was not the 


296 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


slightest hint of fall in the air; on the contrary, 
it was warmer than it had been all summer. Yet 
many of the people they passed had put aside 
summer clothes and were, it seemed, quite con- 
spicuous in what were evidently new fall suits 
and coats. 

“I don’t see how these people tell when one 
season ends and another begins,” remarked 
Joan to her companion. “If I lived in Cali- 
fornia I would wear pretty white dresses all the 
time.” 

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” was Scott’s laconic 
reply. “You’d want to be in the fashion as well 
as the rest of them. Furs with the thermometer 
at 60. Funny thing about fashions for girls.” 

By mutual consent they drove to the beaches, 
passing from one to the other, and stopped from 
time to time to watch the bathers, then on again, 
until they reached the high bluffs of Santa 
Monica. Leaving the car by the roadside, they 
sat for a while in the little park overlooking the 
water, until Joan caught sight of an old boat on 
tlie beach. It had evidently been left by the tide, 
and for a wonder had not been cleared away. 

“Let’s go and ‘vest-gate’ as Bob would say,” 
suggested Joan, and like two children, hand in 
hand, they ran pell mell down the path to the 
beach. 


POSTCARDS AND SOUVENIRS 297 


“If it was only a real true wreck,” said Scott, 
“we could play pirates and imagine ourselves 
cast up by the waves, but it would take more im- 
agination, I fancy, than either you or I possess 
to make anything more out of this than a com- 
mon ordinary rowboat that some one let go be- 
cause it wasn’t worth while taking the trouble to 
fasten it to its moorings.” 

“Never mind,” Joan answered, “we can sit 
down on the sand and use its sides for a back.” 
Then, suiting the action to the word, “It’s ever 
so comfortable.” 

She took off her hat, the trim little toque Scott 
liked, and shook her hair to the ocean breezes. 

“They say notliing tans as much as the wind 
off the salt water. I would like to go home as 
brown as an Indian and see what the folks would 
say. The trouble is it wears off too soon. I was 
all tanned up a month ago with real freckles on 
my arms and now they are almost all gone.” 

They sat for a while in silence; on the pier 
three or four fishermen were trying their luck 
for barracuda; gulls circled above the restless 
surf, and the waves rolled higher and higher on 
the beach. 

It was Scott who spoke first. 

“I say, Joan, I can’t bear to think of your 
going home; fact is, I can’t imagine how it will 


298 JOANNS CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


seem here without you. There’s lots of things 
we haven’t done. We haven’t gone up Mt. 
Lowe yet, to say nothing of other interesting 
places. Don’t you suppose you could stay 
another week and we’d all motor to San 
Diego?” 

J oan laughed at him. 

“Stay! With my ticket bought and my Pull- 
man berth engaged? Think what a commotion 
it would cause at home; besides, I’d have to go 
alone. Miss Lottie’s work begins next week 
and you may be sure she would never consent to 
missing her first lessons.” She was digging lit- 
tle holes in the sand and continued slowly, “I’m 
sorry to go, and I’ve had a glorious time, you-all 
have been perfectly lovely to me but — ” her voice 
broke — “you know one can’t play all the time, 
and it’s time we were all going to work.” 

“That’s the trouble,” returned Scott. “I’m 
not a student, you know, the way you and Jack 
are, and I need you to keep me up to time.” 

“It won’t be very long, just one year and 
we’ll all be ready for college. I don’t see why 
we shouldn’t do as we have always planned, go 
somewhere together.” 

Scott looked sober. “I don’t know, Joan, 
whether father will ever consent to my going 
East. It’s so far away, and he isn’t very well. 


POSTCARDS AND SOUVENIRS 299 


The trouble’s ^viih his heart and the doctor says 
he must be very careful, it might fail him aU at 
once. The amount of it is, he wants both Helen 
and me to be somewhere near.” 

With a little quaver, Joan replied, "‘Your 
father has been so good to me, I can’t bear to 
think of his not being well,” suddenly her face 
cleared, “but I don’t believe I’d worry, at least 
not very much. People often have heart trouble 
and live a long time ; besides doesn’t one get over 
everything in California?” 

“So they say,” he rejoined, “and we’U certainly 
hope it will be so in this case. I didn’t mean to 
worry you, but only to explain why he feels as he 
does about my going East. Perhaps he wouldn’t 
mind if it were Leland Stanford or Berkeley, 
only a day’s ride from here.” 

Joan thoughtfully nodded, “Who knows, 
maybe Jack and I could come West. Don’t you 
remember. Cousin John said he thought the Cali- 
fornia climate would be good for Jack?” 

“That would be splendid, then you could spend 
vacations with us and we could go up Mt. Lowe 
and do everything we haven’t done this time.” 
His face fell again. “If it only wasn’t a whole 
year.” Then, eagerly, “But you will write, won’t 
you, Joan?” 

“Yes, indeed, every single thing and I shall 


300 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


want to know exactly what you and Helen are 
doing.” 

By this time the sun, like a big golden ball, 
had dropped into the ocean and the waves were 
dancing in the radiance of the afterglow. It 
would soon be dark, for twilight is not long in 
California. 

Beginning to realize it was late, Joan shook 
the sand from her skirts and rose with a re- 
minder that it was high time they were thinking 
about home, “Helen won’t like it one bit, I 
know, for she must be back long before this. 
She went in town on purpose for me; then, be- 
sides, there’s the packing, and it’s most dinner 
time.” 

Helen was standing in the pergola eagerly 
scanning every passing car, 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going off 
with Scott the whole afternoon and I wouldn’t 
have hurried,” she said, and without waiting for 
Joan to explain, she dragged her into her room 
talking in her usual animated way. 

“I’ve come across the loveliest postcards and 
I bought ever so many more than you told me 
to, and do come and see what I’ve found for some 
of the folks.” 

“Oh, you extravagant girl,” exclaimed Joan. 
“What have you been buying now?” 


POSTCARDS AND SOUVENIRS 301 


“Nothing, just an embroidered waist pattern. 
It’s pale pink and mil be becoming to Theo, and 
I simply couldn’t resist getting a Satsuma vase 
for your mother. You remember I wanted to 
buy one in San Francisco a\id this is ever so 
much more perfect. Don’t you think she will 
be pleased? And here is a Japanese parasol for 
Margie ; it takes so little to make her happy.” 

“They are lovely, of course, but how can I 
pack the vase? My trunk is full to bursting al- 
ready, and I wouldn’t have it broken for any- 
thing.” 

“We’ll get it in some way, don’t you worry; 
stuff stockings around it so it can’t possibly 
break.” She paused a moment to admire all 
over again, then impulsively threw her arms 
around Joan’s neck. “How I am ever going to 
get along without you, Joan Clayton, I ab- 
so-lute-ly can’t see. Bill’s gone, and now 
you’re going,” and her voice trailed off disconso- 
lately. 

Just then the dinner bell rang and the girls 
hastened to smooth their roughened hair before 
going into the dining-room. 

The conversation at the table was somewhat 
strained and desultory; the consciousness that it 
was Joan’s last night cast a shadow over the 
usually merry group. 


302 JOANNS CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


‘*How did you get along with your packing?” 
at length asked Mrs. Monroe. 

“Not very well, I’m afraid, but I’ll try and 
finish after dinner,” answered J oan, coloring. 

“It was my fault,” confessed Helen. “I hin- 
dered her all morning.” 

“And I must own up, mother, to have hindered 
her all afternoon,” said Scott. “I had to beg 
awfully hard before I could persuade her to go 
in the auto with me.” 

“Perhaps you would like a little help,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Monroe. “I have had so much ex- 
perience, I know just how to go about it.” 

Joan gave her a grateful look; she was still 
anxious about the Satsuma vase. 

“Please, mummy darling,” Helen answered 
for her. “And then we’ll have time for some 
last music.” 

“Don’t say ‘last,’ ” protested Scott. “Joan’s 
coming back. She promised me she w^ould w^ith 
Jack.” 

He smiled down at Joan with an air of pro- 
prietorship, and Mr. Monroe caught the look. 

“Do you constitute yourself Joan’s special 
guardian?” he asked, teasingly. “Jack might 
resent that, I imagine.” 

“I don’t care, just as long as she comes back,” 
declared Scott. 


CHAPTER XXI 


HOMEWARD BOUND 

It was the last moment. In the hall below, 
Scott had called several times for Joan to hurry. 
Mr. Monroe said the clock was fifteen minutes 
slow and still Joan lingered in the room where 
she had been so happy. 

For half an hour before breakfast, she had 
been gathering flowers in the garden with Helen. 
It seemed as if they could not talk enough of all 
the wonderful things that had happened since 
the day when they had left Hillview. Then, 
while they were at breakfast, Miss Lottie had 
come in, just one bundle of nerves over the ex- 
citement of the departure. She was out in the 
machine now with Mrs. Monroe and the impa- 
tient honk, honk of the siren sounded every now 
and then. 

“Don’t forget your flowers that Scott got. 
He’d never forgive you,” Helen said. “Doesn’t 
he look funny and disconsolate? I do hope that 
you and Jack will come back to school here. I 
wish I were half as clever as you are, Joan. I 


304 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


know that I never could keep up with the boys 
at college.” 

“Oh, yes, you could if you just thought so,” 
responded Joan. “There goes the horn again. 
Good-by, you dear old room. Every time you 
come in here, Helen, I hope my ghost will give 
you a tap on the shoulder to make you remember 
all the good times we’ve had together.” 

They ran down the stairs and out to the ma- 
chine. For once, Scott had a chance to run the 
car up to the speed limit. They were just in 
time to check the trunks. Joan saw them as they 
passed by, wheeled out on the last load, and it 
gave her her first thrill of real home coming. 
Miss Lottie had had hers, marked, “With Care” 
in large black letters, “Miss Charlotte Baldwin” 
“New York City.” Joan knew when she saw 
it, all that it signified. It was quite as if some 
crusader of old had stamped the goal of his pil- 
grimage upon his shield. 

“Don’t forget me,” Scott said, as the conduc- 
tor called, “All Aboard.” He had been ever so 
patient during all the farewells. Helen was still 
calling messages from the platform and Mr. 
Monroe had pressed a small pin*se in Miss 
Lottie’s hand and a little box into Joan’s. 

“This is for pin money,” he said, smilingly; 
“and this, so that you won’t forget us, Joan.” 


HOMEWARD BOUND 


305 


As Joan turned back into the car, she found 
Scott putting the two suit cases up into the rack, 
and on one seat was a beautiful basket of Cali- 
fornia grapes. There were ever so many things 
he had intended to say to Joan, but now there 
was only time for a pressure of the hand, and a 
parting admonition. 

‘‘Remember now, tell Jack, it’s Berkeley or 
Stanford.” He was gone before she could even 
reply, and the train began to move. As there 
was no observation car, all Joan could do was 
wave a last good-by from the window. 

There was a queer lump in her throat as the 
little group on the platform faded away. She 
buried her face in the flowers that had come from 
“Heart’s Ease,” so that Miss Lottie could not 
see the tears in her eyes, and then she thought 
what on earth was the matter, when she was 
going home, and Jack was to meet her in Chi- 
cago. If only she could have been in two places 
at once. 

Miss Lottie had opened the little silver mesh 
purse and her eyes were shining with happiness. 

“Just look, Joan,” she said. “Life has seemed 
like a fairy tale, ever since you and Scott found 
me under my umbrella.” 

In her hand were ten glistening five-dollar gold 
pieces, Mr. Monroe’s last gift, and Joan sud- 


306 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


denly remembered the little box she had tucked 
in her hand bag. As she opened it, she gave a 
quick gasp of pleasure. On the creamy satin, 
lay a watch bracelet with gold extension links. 

“Whatever made him think of it!” she cried as 
she fastened it on her wrist. “It is just what I 
have always wanted, and I didn’t have a chance to 
half thank him for it.” 

Before they had gone many miles, the feeling 
of regret had begun to wear off, and they were 
already looking forward to the journey’s end. 

“I’ve never been to New York,” Joan re- 
marked. “The very next time Cousin John goes 
there on a business trip. I’ll coax him to take me 
with him. You know, it’s so queer, Miss Lottie, 
since I’ve been to California, everything seems 
possible. I do hope you can come to Hillview 
for Thanksgiving, even if you must spend 
Christmas up in the Catskills. Virginia is as 
lovely as Calif oniia. And in another month the 
woods will be gorgeous with the changing leaves. 
I know you will love Hillview with its big lawns 
and wide verandas. We have our own horses, 
you know, and you must learn to ride, and oh, 
just wait, till you taste Nannie’s plum pudding.” 

All the way across California, Joan was on the 
lookout for a last glimpse of familiar spots. 
First came Riverside Inn and Rubidoux Moun- 


HOMEWARD BOUND aor 

tain. Scott had told her, how in the time of the 
Mission Fathers a lookout had been posted on the 
mountain side and a bell hung so that if any dan- 
ger was discovered a warning might be sounded. 

Then came miles of orange groves, beautiful 
even at this season of the year, Joan wondered 
what they must be like in the spring, when the 
trees were loaded with blossoms. Finally, even 
the orange groves were far apart, and only an oc- 
casional pepper tree or lonely palm served as a 
reminder of the beautiful country they were leav- 
ing behind. 

Nearer drew the desert with its wastes of sand. 
Far in the distance loomed fantastic shapes of 
cacti. Joan thought they looked like Don 
Quixote’s windmills. It only needed the spec- 
tral shape of Rozinante and Sancho Panza on the 
little donkey to make it realistic. 

Miss Lottie said it was time for them to go 
into the dining car, and Joan glanced at her lit- 
tle wristwatch. There was another tug at her 
heartstrings. They were all eating dinner now, 
at the little bungalow, Scott, Helen, Mrs. Mon- 
roe and at the head of the table, the smiling, 
genial face of the father, with Tako serving, and 
they were all talking of Miss Lottie and her- 
self, Joan felt sure of that. 

The people in the next section were saying 


308 JOAN’S CALIFORNIA SUMMER 


that they had reached the State boundary line. 
Joan could not bear even to look out of the win- 
dow, She bowed her face over Scott’s flowers, 
realizing, too well, that her California Summer 
was at an end, and yet, ahead, lay the joy of see- 
ing Jack in Chicago, and the hope of the future 
when they might all be re-united in this land of 
blossoms during their college days. 





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